


The Boy Next Door

by Benaya, PencilTrash



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Human, Alternate Universe - Neighbors, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Fanart, Fluff, Friends to Lovers, Getting Together, Kid Fic, M/M, Sick Stiles Stilinski, Slow Build, Stiles conducts Summer Camp for kids, Writer Derek
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-06-20
Updated: 2017-01-15
Packaged: 2018-07-16 05:02:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 21,154
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7253497
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Benaya/pseuds/Benaya, https://archiveofourown.org/users/PencilTrash/pseuds/PencilTrash
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Who?”<br/>Deaton looked at Stiles, forehead wrinkling as he suffered the boy’s never ending curiosity.  “My boss,” he answered. “The owner has decided to move in finally.”<br/>“Wha-” Stiles choked on his next bite. “The… the Hales?” He coughed, eyes widening. “But I don’t remember them dropping in here ever, since I was - like, spoiling my diapers.”<br/>Deaton sighed, moving behind the sofa, still cleaning. Stiles strained his neck to follow his path.<br/>“It’s just Derek now.” Something flashed across Deaton’s usually stoic face as he mumbled out the words; sadness, Stiles thought, pity.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Emela](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Emela/gifts).



> * Story by - [LoveActually_rps](http://archiveofourown.org/users/LoveActually_rps)  
> * Fanart by the incredibly talented and my precious [Benaya](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Benaya)! Thank you <3  
> * This is a neighbors/human AU.  
> * Thank you [Jonjo](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Jonjo) and [Emela](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Emela) for the beta work. You are amazing! <3  
> 

“Mr Deaton...” Stiles pressed the doorbell one more time, with enough force to dig a hole into it. “It’s time. Open the do-”

The door flung back at him with equal vigor and Stiles paused his raised fist on time, marginally avoiding hitting the man’s bald crown.

“Hello, Mr Deaton,” he straightened, lips curving into an ear to ear smile. “Your terrace keys please? God! Kids are going crazy for today's dance practice.”

As Deaton moved aside, Stiles stepped in, scanning the familiar apartment that was way too neat for his own taste. Dropping to the sofa, he grabbed an apple from the bowl. He took a big bite, legs comfortably sprawling on the table in front of him.

“Legs down,” Deaton commanded, poking a stick to Stiles’ calf, forcing his legs back down. Stiles squinted at the broom in his hand.

“Cleaning, eh? Anyone coming home?” he asked in between his bites.

“Yes, Stiles,” Deaton sighed, continuing to sweep the floor.

“Who?”

Deaton looked at him, forehead wrinkling as he suffered the boy’s never ending curiosity.  

“My boss. The owner has decided to move in finally.”

“Wha-” Stiles choked on his next bite. “The… the Hales?” He coughed, eyes widening. “But I don't remember them dropping in here ever, since I was - like, spoiling my diapers.”

Deaton sighed, moving behind the sofa, still cleaning. Stiles strained his neck to follow his path.

“It’s just Derek now.” Something flashed across Deaton’s usually stoic face as he mumbled out the words; sadness, Stiles thought, pity. Just as quickly, he cleared his throat, swiftly changing the topic. “Don't you have a practice to continue?”

“Shit,” Stiles swore gulping down the remains of the apple in a single swallow and staggering to stand, almost tumbling.

“Careful!” Deaton gasped, leaving the broom on the floor, hand raised in the mid air, ready to support him.

Stiles shot him a reassuring smile and Deaton huffed out a breath in relief, shaking his head, bending down to pick up his broom again. “Stiles, you should stop these heavy activities, jumping and dancing. It's not good for you.”

“Oh c’mon,” Stiles rolled his eyes. “Not you too. My dad just yelled at me for forgetting _one_ pill. ”

“Seriously, Stiles? The least you can do for him is take care of your health.” Stiles looked away. The topic was turning a bit heavy and he wasn’t liking it. At all.

Stiles was born with a congenital heart defect. In simple words, he had a hole in his heart.

It wasn't deadly, his doctor assured him; with regular cardiac follow ups and proper medication and lifelong care, he would live but his heart condition had made his life pathetically boring, up until now. He was planning to live his life to the fullest, kissing under the Eiffel Tower, climbing Mount Everest and all that cool shit.

 _“Hey Stiles,”_ several sudden loud, cheerful calls brought him back to reality. Stiles watched as a gang of ten to twelve kids barged into the room, excited and waiting.

Quickly, he grabbed the terrace keys from Deaton’s offered hand, saying a warm _thank you_ to the man.

Stiles was being home-schooled for obvious reasons but he cherished the day he had decided to conduct the free summer dance sessions for the kids in the neighborhood. He was quite famous locally, not for his dancing skills of course, but for his non stop rambling. For some reason, these sessions were going pretty smoothly so far. He had welcomed his thirteenth student a day before, and the count was quite a lot higher than he’d initially anticipated.

But Stiles was happy. These two hours, spent on the spacious terrace of the Hales house, were the best hours of his monotonous day and he wasn't going to allow Deaton or anyone else to ruin them.

“Let's dance.” Stiles clapped his hands, chuckling, scooping up little Mia in his arms and racing the other kids towards the entrance of the terrace.

******

The Hale terrace, as everyone called it, was a second home to the every child in the building. It was huge, no less than a mini-playground, stretching the entire length of the Hale apartment. It was still pretty well disconnected from the apartment but its living room had a good view across the terrace.

The terrace had witnessed every tiny ceremony that had taken place in the building, from birthday celebrations to little fancy dress competitions. Over the years, it had witnessed the worst fights and the sweetest of make ups, and Stiles had been there through it all.

Being one of the residents of the tiny apartment next to the Hales on the top floor, he pretty much lived on that terrace, thanks to the ever welcoming Deaton. Stiles often roamed around it as if he owned the place. But, he hadn't expected all the good things would eventually come to an end.

Stiles watched as Deaton unloaded two trucks of baggage and furniture, and spent a week setting up the apartment anew. The day after it was finished, he refused to give up the terrace keys.

“But _why_?” Stiles whined, angry.

“Derek is in and he needs a place to write,” Deaton answered from the doorway, refusing to continue, as if that should be enough to convince him somehow.

Stiles was definitely not buying it.

“What? Is he some famous writer now?” he mocked, lips curving into a smug smirk. Deaton didn't budge. “But, you always allowed us to use the terrace. We’ve been doing this for _years_. Then why suddenly-”

“Stiles,” Deaton cut in, moving out of the apartment, closing a door behind him to block their voices from seeping in. “Give him some time. He just arrived last night and right now, he seriously needs some quiet to regain his peace of mind.”

“Peace of mind?” Stiles scoffed, narrowing his eyes. “How could anyone get peace of mind after breaking the hearts of thirteen innocent souls… including mine, by the way.” His hands flailed everywhere. He paused. “We can practice quietly, y’know?” It was a long shot, he knew, but he had to try.

“Right,” Deaton said, clearly not buying Stiles’ false promises. After all, he'd known him for the past eighteen years.

“But-”

“Stiles, not now.”

“O-kay. Okay.” Stiles stepped back, throwing his hands up in frustration. “By any chance is this Derek guy rethinking his decision about moving in here? Like - relocating somewhere far _far_ away… say, by tomorrow?”

“Go. Now,” Deaton warned.

“ _Jesus,_ ” Stiles let out an exasperated sound, finally turning to go. “Looks like he’s started to pass his brooding on to you,” he muttered under his breath, finally walking away, shoulders slumping.

He spent the entire evening tossing from one side of the bed to the other, attempting to rest as per his father’s strict instructions. If he cursed Derek Hale till his eyelids drooped and he drifted towards sleep, his father didn’t need to know.

He hated this guy.

******

 

The soothing, soft sound of a melancholy song startled him awake. Blinking, he searched for the light switch in the dark room, turning towards the open window, where the song was filtering in.

It was coming from the Hale apartment and he was sure it wasn’t Deaton’s taste. Deaton didn’t listen to music. Like, ever.

[ **_I thought I saw the devil… this morning_ ** ](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=scd-uNNxgrU)

**_Looking in the mirror, drop of rum on my tongue… with the warning_ **

**_To help me see myself clearer… I never meant to start a fire,_ **

**_I never meant to make you bleed… I'll be a better man today_ **

**_I'll be good, I'll be good…_ **

In the quiet surroundings, Jaymes Young’s melody touched Stiles’ soul, dragging him towards the window. Cool air ruffled his hair, drawing goosebumps on his skin.

He had a good view of the Hale dining room. As his new neighbor paced around it, Stiles silently watched the play of his shadow against the dim light of the room. He leaned on his window frame, taking in the beautiful but heart wrenching lyrics.

**_I'll be good, I'll be good…_ **

**_And I'll love the world, like I should_ **

**_Yeah..._ **

**_I'll be good, I'll be good_ **

**_For all of the times… that I never could._ **

He closed his eyes and listened to the series of sad songs that followed, soaking in the deep pain from the words. It hurt, bringing his own buried wounds to the surface, making a lump raise in his throat and his eyes glassy.

He stood there for a full thirty minutes. He couldn't move.

“Stiles!” He jumped, the sudden sound of his father calling, bringing him back to reality.

“Yeah, Dad?” he called back, the smell of food making his stomach grumble, reminding him that he'd not eaten since lunch.

Following the mouthwatering scent, Stiles sat on the counter-top in the kitchen, watching his father cook.

“What’s the deal with Derek Hale?” he asked casually, raising a hand to grab some cheese. His father batted it away. “Ow!” He picked up a spoon instead. “... I mean, why’s he suddenly moved in, after all these years?”

The sheriff let out a heavy sigh, halting his cutting knife. He gazed somewhere behind Stiles, lost in thought. “His family died in an accident last year.”

“What?” Stiles gasped, taken aback by the news. “As in, everyone?” he managed to croak out.

“Yes, everyone. It was a nasty car crash. I’ve seen the reports.”

As his father provided the details, his mind drifted to all those sad songs. It'd felt so gloomy. “He was the only survivor.”

Stiles didn't even want to imagine Derek’s current emotional state. It had been a year, sure, but that certainly wasn't enough. From his personal experience, Stiles knew these things took time to heal. After his mother’s death, he'd cried in his bed for two years, almost every night.

“... being distracted while driving was the cause of the accident.” His father paused for a moment, meeting Stiles’ eyes. “Derek was driving the car.”

Stiles’ weak heart skipped a beat.


	2. Chapter 2

Stiles had already had his nap in the evening and couldn't sleep that night. So, he googled _Derek Hale_ on his phone.

**Son kills loved ones in car crash**

**The driver, struggling writer, 22, miraculously survives after phone call distracts him.**

He went through the article, avoiding glancing at the horrific accident images.

It was a family of five - Derek, his two sisters - Laura and Cora - and their parents. All suffered fatal injuries and didn’t make it to the hospital, except Derek, who had suffered several broken bones and a severe injury to one shoulder.

The article also talked about some interesting case studies about ‘inattention blindness’ , about how ‘you look but don't see’ when multitasking while driving and how the researchers had tried to find a ‘benefit to hands-free devices’ , which had led to the outcome - ‘They couldn't find any’ _._

Another website had information on Derek's court proceedings against his uncle, Peter Hale - a case to retain their ancestral home or something. And, seriously! That man had _a lot_ on his plate.

One hour into googling, he still couldn't find any pictures of Derek, other than the covers of his unsuccessful books. This man was the epitome of misery. Stiles already started feeling the murky aura around Derek, without even meeting him.

He'd heard though, how the mysterious leather clad young man had arrived sharp on midnight and was now at the center of all the local gossip. Some claimed he was a secret agent and others truly believed he was either a drug dealer or a porn star.

Right.

That night, Stiles dreamt about crashed cars, roller coaster rides and leather jackets.

******

It was very late when Stiles crossed Deaton’s path at the building entrance, a loaf of bread in one hand and the other running through his bed-hair, eyelids barely holding up.

“Good morning, Mr... Deaton,” he yawned, showing the full interior of his open mouth. “Oh, sorry. I barely slept last night. _Your Derek_ kept haunting me.”

Deaton’s eyes widened. He raised his finger, pointing at the boy. “Stiles, don't mess with hi-”

“Just chill, Deat,” Stiles cut in, chuckling. “I won't. You know me, right?”

“Yes, Stiles. I _know_ you.” Deaton shook his head, before moving to collect his mail from the letter box.

With his free hand, Stiles shot a finger gun at Deaton’s back. He swore, he meant to head straight home, but the beautiful tune of a flute made him freeze in his tracks.

It was coming from the Hale apartment again. My, the guy had really good taste in music.

The Hale apartment door was unlocked, looking enigmatic and inviting. Of course, his legs automatically lead him in the wrong direction. As he gently pushed the door open, the visceral, velvety notes hit his eardrums, echoing in the closed room. Then he realized, it wasn't a recording, but someone was actually playing the instrument.

The thought of invading anyone’s privacy didn't even touch his mind. Visiting the Hale apartment, unannounced, was an inevitable part of his daily routine. He moved further inside, scanning the apartment to track the source of the music.

There was a young man, obviously Derek, his brain supplied instantly and his jaw dropped at the breathtaking sight in front of him.

Derek was sitting on his music stool, his back straight, shoulders relaxed, legs comfortably settled on the footrest. His eyes were closed, forehead wrinkled in concentration. He’d raised his chin, lips rounded in an adorable _O_ , as he blew gentle breaths across the mouthpiece. His fingers danced over the keys, emitting an ethereal sound.

Even in a casual tank top and shorts, Derek looked stunning and… open; not the glum and puffy writer Stiles had imagined the night before. Well, definitely not puffy. Derek's top perfectly fitted over his sculptured abs like a second skin, twitching a little while he breathed as if pulling a string from inside.

Stiles was lost.

A moment later, Derek paused, maybe to catch a breath, or maybe he'd sensed Stiles' presence.

“That was _awesome,_ ” Stiles enthused, delighted and impressed.

For a fraction of a second, Derek watched him with his puzzled hazel eyes- God, they were beautiful - but in a beat, his thick eyebrows furrowed dangerously. “Who are you?” he demanded.

“Oh, I'm Stiles.”

The way his eyebrows danced, Derek probably wanted to say _Get out_ next, but the name must have startled him. He stared at the boy.

“What's _Stiles_?”

“My name,” Stiles made an exasperated noise, stepping closer. “Weird, right? You should hear my real name. I'm never gonna forgive my great great grandpa for having that one, so they could name me after him and please his dead soul.”

“What? Get out,” Derek snapped, finally coming out of his daze, putting his flute down on the next available flat surface.

“Is that any way to greet your only neighbor?” Stiles snapped back, unphased as Derek advanced. “How rude.”

“How did you get in? Where the hell is Deaton?” Derek twisted his neck in all directions. He grabbed a towel from the nearby chair, hanging it around his neck and covered his bare shoulders, which Stiles found pretty comical, especially when he had those firm thighs fully on display. Somehow, he managed to not laugh.

Deaton chose that moment to barge into the room - Stiles was convinced he was the devil.

“Stiles?” Deaton’s breath hitched.

“Where were you, Alan? And how could you leave the door unlocked?” Derek started shouting. He snapped his head to face the boy, folding his arms, eyes searching Stiles’ face. “Aren't you the one who was fighting for the terrace keys yesterday?

”I, um...”

“I've come here for quiet and not for some crazy ruckus.”

“Crazy ruckus?” Stiles’ opened his mouth then closed it as he tried to think of an appropriate retort to the insulting comment.

“Stiles,” Deaton butted in, before he could say something really shitty. He gripped Stiles’ arm pulling him aside. “Jesus, Stiles,” he murmured, beads of sweat forming on his forehead even in the air conditioned room. “I told you, not now.” He almost dragged him out of the house.

“Hey, hey.” Stiles jerked his hand from Deaton’s clasp. “I thought, you were on my side.” He creased his eyebrows, looking at Deaton, feeling utterly betrayed.

“Stiles, _go,_ ” Deaton pleaded.

Stiles huffed out a dejected sigh. “Aye aye, Alfred.” He mock-saluted the man. Then, turning to Derek, squinted, shooting him a burning glare. “... and b-bye Batman.”

He didn’t forget to bang the door with force as he left.

******

 

In the evening, all the kids descended on the living room of Stiles’ small apartment.

They didn’t continue the dance practice. Some played with dolls and others found their way around the awkward furniture of the room to play football, while Stiles leapt in front of the ball every time someone decided to score a goal and sacrifice his precious television.

He didn't stop them. He couldn't. He couldn't gather the courage to say no to them when they were all trying so hard to pretend they'd found an alternative to the Hale terrace, without complaint. Stiles knew they were sad and actually missing their daily shenanigans, just as much as he did.

Stiles gulped down all his pride and knocked on the Hales door. For the kids.

“You? Again?” Derek's face scrunched up, as if he'd tasted some sour pickle. He didn’t open the door more than a few inches and scowled at Stiles through the gap, flashing his evil eyebrows.

“Yep, same ol’ me… again.” He squirmed, plastering a fake smile on his face, his eyes occasionally glancing at Mia’s innocent face to keep his calm. “Can we _please_ get the terrace keys for two hours?” he asked, jumping straight to the point.

"No,” Derek retorted in his flattest tone, without even taking a moment to process the request. How could someone be so insensitive? Stiles couldn't believe it.  

“I can't believe this. How could you-”

“I said, _no_.”

“But we-”

“No.”

“For one hour?”

“No.”

“Ugh…” Stiles nearly raised his hand to shut Derek’s mouth. The asshole wasn't going to let him speak. Stiles took a deep breath gathering all his patience. He wanted the goddamn keys. For the kids...the kids...

“We won't disturb you.”

“No,” Derek repeated like a broken record.

Jesus, Stiles should leave now, before he did something stupid, like pushing past the stubborn man and grabbing the keys from the first right-hand drawer of the corner table, where Deaton kept them with his watch and a comb. Why would Deaton need a comb, Stiles had always wondered, but that was beside the point. He should seriously leave.

“O-kay. Maybe, we can try this tomorrow, if you want,” he teased, stepping back from the doorway. Derek rolled his eyes. “Alright. Meanwhile, hopefully you hit your head… I mean, reconsider changing your mind.”

Derek growled at him and Stiles winked, showing him two thumbs up, before finally leaving.

******

Stiles had a big heart and was absolutely okay with repeating the process the next day. But the kids… they had taken the insult against Stiles very personally and wanted _revenge_.

They started a prank war on Derek.

From Stiles’ window, Rey and Mia made sure Derek was sitting in his dining room, his head buried deep in his laptop, probably working on his next flop novel. Then, Ryan ran straight to the Hale apartment and rang the bell loud enough to shake the whole building.

Derek shouted out Deaton’s name before realizing he was out doing the grocery shopping. Yeah, the kids had made sure of that. Derek got up from his seat, blinking his eyes away from the screen, scratching his handsome stubble and dragged his legs all the way across some eight rooms on the way to finally answer the door.

He wouldn’t admit it, but something settled deep inside Stiles when Derek came back to the room, murmuring and fuming.

The prank would have continued the entire evening, if Stiles hadn’t stopped the kids after their sixth successful attempt. He was considerate that way.

The next evening when Stiles knocked on the Hales apartment door for the keys, Derek opened it even though Deaton was in.

“Do you think I don’t know what you’re doing?” Derek’s nostrils were flaring, ears burning red with anger.

“Whoa, whoa, hold up.” Stiles raised his hands in surrender. “There’s no _me_ in this. Absolutely none. It’s all between you and the kids. Don’t even try to get me involved.”

Derek’s eyes hovered over the kid’s faces, one by one, glaring. They all glared back at him just as hard.

“You started this, big guy,” Ryan commented, curving his lips in a wide smug smirk, directly meeting Derek’s eyes. “It could all stop though.” He quirked his eyebrow, spreading his palm out in front of Derek. “The keys?”

Shit, Stiles seriously needed to be more careful around these kids. He didn't even know how and when they had started taking after him.

“No,” Derek hissed, engaging himself in a solid staring contest, one more time, till the kids decided to retreat.

It was actually fun watching their silent conversation and Stiles made no comment on it.

******

The next day, Derek left the building three times and each time the kids were ready and kept messing with the building lift.

Derek had to climb the steps up to the eighth floor, every single time.

When Stiles went asking for the keys, this time, before he could open his mouth, Derek banged the door in his face and that made Stiles really pissed.

The war was on.

He gathered his gang and they started practicing their song and dance right in the middle of the passage joining the two apartments. And, for the first time Derek came out from his cave, to negotiate.

“What the hell do you think you're doing, huh?”

“Singing.” Stiles cleared his throat. He ignored Derek and gently held Mia’s finger, twirling her around in small circles. “... and dancing.” Mia giggled, pressing her tiny fingers to her mouth, suppressing her laughter.

"You can't do this here.” The way a vein on Derek's forehead twitched, it was clear he was having a tough time controlling his temper.

“Why not?” Stiles jerked his head to look straight at him. He squared his shoulders, challenging the man. “Have you bought this passage along with your terrace?”

All the kids had stopped their activities and curiously watched the exchange.

“And who told you to stop?” Stiles commanded them. “C’mon sing… _It's a beautiful day…_ sing with me.” Stiles started singing at the top of his lungs, his voice shrill and irritating even to his own ears, hands flailing everywhere, only just missing slapping Derek in the face.

“Shut up!” Derek was shaking with barely controlled fury, his jaw clenching, fingers balling up into tight fists at his sides.

“Or what?” Stiles took a step forward, but Rey grabbed his hand, halting his advance.

“Wait. Don't,” she murmured under her breath, eyes scanning between the two men, her grip tightening on Stiles’ hand. Stiles looked down at her curled fingers, confused. “Sam said, he killed his family. He'll kill you too, Stiles.”

“Rey, no!” Stiles gasped, pulling the girl back to stop her from saying more. But the damage was done.

The usual stoic mask of Derek's face shattered in seconds and his eyes widened in shock before filling with pain as the repressed memory was thrown in his face. Stiles watched as Derek’s hand trembled on the door handle when he turned on his heels and escaped into his apartment without uttering another word.

******

Stiles was feeling horrible.

They’d been sitting in his living room, with the door open, eyes fixed on the other door at the end of the passage, waiting. On his lap, his fingers were sweaty, wiggling in nervousness.

Their little prank war had crossed all the limits. He blamed himself for not stopping it sooner and for getting carried away with it. His intentions were harmless, but that didn't matter. The unfortunate truth was, it'd hurt Derek.

When the Hales door clicked open, he scrambled to stand, barging outside. The kids followed him.

It was Derek, probably heading out to complain about the incident to the building manager. His face was still flushed and seeing it twisted something in Stiles’ chest as he imagined what might have happened behind that closed door in the last fifteen minutes.

As their eyes met, Derek looked away, seeming in no mood for any kind of banter. But, the kids were blocking the way downstairs. Derek hesitated in the doorway, as if thinking about turning back rather than facing the crowd of naughty kids and the lanky teen. He moved forward though, carefully avoiding meeting anyone’s gazes, silently moving past them.

“I'm sorry, Derek,” Rey pleaded, her voice insistent, eyes glassy.

Derek froze on the spot, not actually looking.

“Please forgive her. She's just a kid,” Stiles butted in immediately. Rey’s apology had worked as an icebreaker. He couldn't bare the burden of heavy guilt and he wanted to get it all out his system. Derek raised his head, finally meeting his eyes. “I apologize on her behalf. She didn't mean to hurt you.”

Derek just stared at him. From this close, Stiles could see how red the rims of his eyes were, cheeks puffy. Stiles would never forgive himself for upsetting someone like this. He wanted to apologize, but he couldn’t speak for a moment.

“If you don't forgive us, Stiles will never talk to us again,” Ryan added sadly, moving close to Derek.

“It was a mistake. _Please?_ ” Rey was on the verge of crying.

“We're all really sorry,” Stiles said, his throat going tight, eyes never leaving Derek’s. “We'll never ask for the terrace keys again and… and won't disturb you anymore. We promise.”

Little Mia patted Derek's leg, in an attempt to catch his attention. Derek looked down at her.

“If you forgive us, we'll all give you kissy.”

Derek blinked, looking completely taken aback by the innocent offer. He didn’t say anything, so Mia offered more.

“Even if you don't shave, we'll still give you a kissy on your cheek.”

Something melted in Derek's face. His eyes silently tripped over all the kids, one by one, who looked back at him with wide, expectant eyes. Stiles knew no one was strong enough to deny that level of cuteness, not even Derek Hale.

Derek’s hand moved, reaching out, but he halted it in the mid air - instead, he blurted out, “Okay. I forgive you.”

“Thank Jesus,” Stiles croaked, while the kids chirped in delight. “C’mon, kids, say thank you to Derek.”

“Thank you, Derek,” they all said in chorus.

 _Thank you,_ Stiles mouthed at Derek, lips spreading in a genuine smile, feeling happy and relieved. He was sure he saw the corners of Derek's mouth twitch in response, a little.

“Let's go, kiddos.” Stiles started moving them away. “Let Derek finish his _homework_. Say bye.”

“Bye bye, Derek.” They all waved, blowing him sweet flying kisses.

“Wait!”

The kids paused at Derek’s sudden call. They all looked at him with curious eyes. Derek crouched down, bending down to their height.

“Can you promise me that you won’t trouble me, if I allow you to use the terrace for two hours?”

“Promise! ” they all shouted, including Stiles, so loudly that Derek had to cover his ears with his hands.

“Okay then, come and take the keys.” Derek jerked his head to the door, gesturing to Stiles to follow him.

Stiles shot a warm smile at Derek’s back. He wasn’t expecting this outcome, especially after what had happened a few minutes before. He hoped it was the start of something good.

As he followed Derek, Stiles moved his whole body, doing his happy breakdance and the kids giggled. He didn’t stop even when Derek glared at him, looking over his shoulder.

******

 

“One… two… three, go!”

Stiles hit the play button of his music system and the kids clicked their fingers, matching the beat of the song.

It was a dress rehearsal. The girls wore yellow skirts and tops each with a handmade paper-sunflower necklace and a wristband. The boys were in bright yellow tees and jeans with sunflower cutouts wrapped around their faces. Thanks to Lydia’s artistic skills with making the props and her generous donation, the kids were looking blindingly cute.

From the corner of his eye, Stiles noticed as Derek pushed aside the living room curtains, leaning against the wall, watching them perform _‘_ A Beautiful Day’ .

[ **_See the sun shining in the window_ ** **_  
_ ** ](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=_DztYR5bI_g) **_Time to start a new day._ **

The kids cupped the palms behind their ears. They sang along with the music, feet tapping in complete synchronization. Stiles felt like a proud mommy.

 **_Can't you hear the song birds singing?_ ** ****  
**_They're gonna sing out loud and say:_ ** **_  
_ ** ******_That it’s a beautiful day, for running in the sun_**

They spread their hands, puffing out their chests, breathing in the fresh, sweet scent of new life.

 **_A beautiful day has just begun._ ** ****  
**_A beautiful day, to do what I want to do...ah-hah._ ** **_  
_ ** ******_Yes it’s a beautiful day, just to be alive,_**

Their faces beamed, lips spreading in bright toothy smiles, as if they totally understood the true meaning of life, looking so naive and free.

 **_A beautiful day so glad that I've got_ ** **_  
_ ** **_A beautiful day and I'd like to share it with you!_ **

As they sang 'with you’, they all pointed their fingers in Derek’s direction. Stiles had absolutely nothing to do with it.

He would swear on his curly fries that he saw Derek smile, before he ducked his head, looking amused and overwhelmed.


	3. Chapter 3

After the initial hiccup, things settled down once again. Every evening they all gathered on the Hales terrace for two hours where they practiced the dance.

Derek never stopped the kids and like a civilized neighbor, Stiles made it a point to confirm that he was comfortable in his own home. He was sure they definitely weren't disturbing Derek, because in those two hours, he'd noticed Derek shut down his laptop quite frequently and watched their activities, peeping from his living room window. Derek never participated himself, but he'd stopped scowling at them, which was a positive sign.

It was a second Wednesday of the month, the day Stiles had his routine medical follow up with McCall and he was afraid he’d have to miss all the fun. Having your best friend’s mother as your physician had its own pluses and minuses. You didn’t have to visit gross smelling hospitals for excruciatingly boring hours waiting for small checkups, true, but then you didn’t have the liberty to ditch them for anything less than the apocalypse and definitely not for some dance practice.

“You're doing fine, Stiles,” Mrs McCall plucked her stethoscope from her ears and smiled at her patient.

She’d known Stiles since he was a baby and had been diagnosed with a heart defect. Stiles knew _doing fine_ wasn’t to be taken literally. It simply meant _it wasn't getting worse, for now_. In one way, he owned his life to her. Stiles smiled at her, conveying his silent gratitude.

“Can Stiles come with us for the practice then?” Rey asked, asking the question on everybody's mind.

“Not today, baby.” Melissa pretended to think deeply. “Um, he'll be better by tomorrow, but only if you let him rest for the whole day today.”

“What? The whole day? Melissa, plea-”

“Not a word, Stiles,” his father cut in, shooting Stiles a warning glance. “Follow Melissa’s instructions or I'll have to close down your summer camp.”

“No!” Stiles yelped, bouncing on his bed. He looked at his father in disbelief. The sheriff didn't budge. “A whole day’s rest it is then,” he agreed, his shoulders slumping, as he pouted. He had started taking after the kids himself. He knew it was an empty threat. His father loved him and was totally aware how important this silly summer camp was for Stiles.

When the kids left his house, feeling disappointed and low, he cursed his weak health for not allowing him these tiny, simple moments of joy.

He tried to relax but the boredom had him trying out every available piece of furniture in his apartment, changing positions regularly in an effort to get comfortable while he listlessly surfed the internet on his laptop. He swallowed the so called healthy food with his newly prescribed throat choking tablets, listening to crappy music. Jesus, taking rest was a pretty tiring job.

Sometime later, in the evening, Deaton dropped by to check up on him.

“How was the practice today?” Stiles inquired, before Deaton settled down on a chair beside his bed.

Deaton shook his head, without answering his question. “How are you doing, Stiles?” he asked, instead.

“I’m doing cool, fab, supeeerrrr… Thank you very much.” He stretched out his arms as proof.

Deaton stared at him, a thick line of concern etched on his forehead. Stiles hated that look. He wasn’t dying, _for god’s sake, people!_

“Now c’mon tell me, how was the practice?”

“It was okay,” Deaton replied. He paused, before adding quickly. “A bit chaotic and dull without you, of course, but definitely okay.”

Stiles snorted. “I hope Derek didn't kick them out.”

Surprisingly, Deaton huffed out a small laugh in response, remembering something amusing. “He was okay too. In fact, he asked about _you_ quite a few times today.”

“Aw,” Stiles squealed, dramatically clutching at his heart. “Did he miss me?”

Deaton rolled his eyes. “I heard him asking the kids.”

“No way!” Stiles exclaimed, widening his eyes. “Did he really… actually had a verbal conversation with the kids… with his _mouth_? And not with his eyebrows?”

“Stiles...” Deaton complained.

“I mean, that was quite an improvement, right? Something… good?”

“Hmm, it was good.” Deaton’s face softened as he hummed in agreement. Stiles knew he was worried about Derek, like - all the time. Stiles had hardly ever seen him being so protective about anyone, well, before Derek.

Stiles wasn't sure if Derek had missed him, but he’d definitely missed seeing his grumpy face the entire day. He was, right now, writhing internally with the expectation of witnessing that _something good_.

Stiles’ lips were curved in a soft smile long after Deaton left.

******

Stiles was about to head for his bed when their doorbell rang.

Once. Twice. Three times...

The person outside definitely had their tail on fire. He wasn't expecting anyone this late and the confused look on his father's face told him neither was he.

“John...” Deaton breathed, as the sheriff opened the door, panting, as if he’d run a mile. “Please. Please come. Derek…” He didn't finish his sentence, heading back to the Hale apartment in a hurry.

A cold shiver ran down Stiles’ spine hearing the way Deaton had murmured Derek's name. He followed them.

As Stiles entered the room, the tangy smell of alcohol hit his nostrils. The next thing he noticed was the shattered pieces of a whiskey bottle and the red blood stains on the woven carpet.

“Holy Shi-t!” he almost turned on his heels, closing his eyes, clutching his sensitive stomach.

“ _Deaton!_ What happened?” He heard his father exclaim in horror.

“I… he was...” Deaton struggled for words.

Stiles opened his eyes and watched Derek sprawled out on the living room floor, probably unconscious… dead?

“You’re gonna burn in- ” Derek’s voice hitched, his head lolling back, raising his index finger to point at the ceiling “... _hell_ ,” he finished.

Not dead then, just drunk. Stiles let out a shuddering breath in relief.

“He was on the phone, arguing with his uncle,” Deaton frantically started explaining, hesitating before actually mentioning the name. “Peter Hale.” He tried pulling Derek’s arm, in a failed attempt to get him up on his feet.

Derek waved him away. “Leave me alone,” he barked and slumped on the floor, head buried in the carpet, as if he was some lifeless heap.

“He’s been drinking since and when I tried to stop him, he threw the bottle and injured his hand. He’s not even letting me to look at the cuts.”

“Oh...” The sheriff scrutinized Derek for a long moment. Stiles reckoned his inner cop must be clawing to get out. “Derek?” he called, voice firm but reassuring.

Derek snapped his head up. “Go to...” he stopped, mouth slack and frozen as his fuzzy brain slowly took in the new face in front of him.

The sheriff knelt down beside Derek.

“I’m just gonna check it, okay?” He carefully reached out, gently curling his fingers around Derek’s blood covered wrist without touching the actual injury on his palm.

Derek blinked at the sheriff, his hand shaking, face crumpled in pain and eyes lost. “Who are you?” he asked.

“I’m the sheriff.”

Stiles mentally rolled his eyes when his father introduced himself with his title and not with the name. But it had the desired effect on Derek. He didn't protest.

“The sheriff...” Derek parroted after him.

“Call me John. I’m also your neighbor.” As the sheriff kept Derek engaged in small talk, Deaton handed him a turkish towel.

“We need to fix this,” the sheriff muttered as he loosely wrapped the clean towel around Derek’s wounded hand to stop the blood dripping on the carpet. He had splinters of broken glass in his hand and they needed to make sure all the fragments were removed. “Stiles...”

Hearing his father, Stiles winced returning to reality, his own brain buzzing at the sight of the blood… so much blood.

“C’m here, son.”

Stiles hesitated for a second. Just a second, and then dropped down on the other side of Derek, near his head.

“I want you to hold his hand like this.” He mechanically followed his father’s instructions and replaced his father’s grip on Derek’s wrist. “Yes, perfect,” he encouraged. “Hold it upright and apply some pressure. Don’t touch the wound.”

“Okay. Okay. I got it.” With all his will Stiles avoided looking at the injury and focussed his eyes on the soft looking, ink black hair in front of him, Derek’s hair. He wanted to stroke it and check if Derek would still snarl at him.

“I’ll call a doctor,” his father declared, getting up. “Deaton, please bring me the first-aid kit.”

The older men moved out of the room and Stiles was left alone to deal with the very injured, very drunken Derek Hale.

He sighed, his breath ruffling the hair on Derek's fluffy head. Derek must have felt it as he raised his head and looked at him with confused, glassy eyes.

“Who are you?”

“Dude, c’mon,” Stiles whined. “Is that your best pick up line or something? Because let me tell you, you've already used that one on me.”

“Are you the… St… Sti… Stiles?”

“There you go, _the_ Stiles. I'm truly honored that you recognize me after us meeting daily _for last fifteen days_ ,” Stiles deadpanned, adjusting his grip over Derek's wrist. “And you are?” he asked to keep the conversation flowing. Talking was a good distraction.

“I am...” Derek laughed to himself. Suddenly, a cold look flickered in his pale eyes. “I'm _useless_.”

Stiles’ heart skipped a beat at that unexpected answer. He searched Derek's face, watching the way his lips trembled.

“Peter says, I'm a burden… a little piece of shit.” He leaned forward and hiccupped in Stiles’ face. “I'm a _killer._ ”

Stiles’ nostrils burned with the acrid smell of alcohol, but he didn't turn his face away. He couldn't. There was such a deep ache plastered over Derek's face that it hurt. Stiles wanted to wipe it off at that very moment.

“I'm a taboo,” Derek continued his rant. “You shouldn't be near me. You shouldn't be touching me, or you're gonna die too.”

With that, he started pulling his hand from Stiles’ clasp.

“Whoa!” Stiles struggled to keep hold. Derek was definitely stronger than him, even in his loose drunken state.

“Leave my hand. Stay away from me. Leave.”

“No!” Stiles yelled in Derek's face, surprising him. He tightened his grip around Derek's hand, scooting closer. ”I'm not gonna let go of your fucking hand,” he stated slowly, enunciating every word, glaring right at Derek.

Derek didn’t  say anything, he kept staring.

“Laura… ” The words came out of Derek's mouth with a shuddering breath.

"What?”

Derek's eyes were heavy with blood loss, alcohol, _Peter_ , everything hitting him together and hard.

“Laura used to yell at me like this. I _miss her_.”

It took Stiles a few moments to join the dots, but when he did, his heart dropped. He’d no clue how to handle such a delicate situation.

“Hey, buddy, c’mon. Look at me. Here.” He clicked his fingers in front of Derek's face, catching his attention.

Derek followed the motion.

“Peter's an asshole.” Derek’s eyes widened at Stiles’ sudden comment.

Stiles felt good, after getting the desired reaction. At least, Derek hadn't lost all his senses.

“Don’t you get it? He's playing some dirty mind games on you, to win a damn court case. He want you weak and broken.”

Derek gaped at him.

“Do you understand?” Stiles demanded.

He wasn't expecting it, but Derek nodded in response. “Peter's an asshole,” he muttered Stiles’ words, eyes brightening with an unreadable spark.

“That’s right,” Stiles clapped Derek on the arm. “Get your shit together, man. Call him if you want. Give it back to him. That’s what I'd do. But wait...” he paused, thinking. “You’re more of a silent, brooding type, so maybe, call your lawyer. I'll talk to my dad. He can guide you better.”

“The sheriff…”

“Yes, the sheriff!” he confirmed, exasperated. “I _seriously_ hope you remember at least one percent of my advice tomorrow. But for now, please stop torturing yourself and _for god’s sake_ , stop moving. I'm not made for this.” He shot a distressed glance at the blood stained towel around Derek's hand. “Oh my god, Dad?”

He craned his neck, scanning the room hoping to catch a sight of his father, or Deaton. He refused to entertain any more of Derek’s self loathing speeches. He wanted to wrap his hands around Derek, give him a solid, tight hug. But, he couldn’t.

Derek looked okay though. He slumped down on the carpet, hiding his face near Stiles’ knees, lines of his shoulders relaxed a bit, before passing out completely.

Yes, this was Stiles’ life now.


	4. Chapter 4

_“Then baby, I'm perfect...”_ Stiles drummed his fingers on his window frame, eyes unconsciously taking in the traffic outside, head shaking to One Direction’s fine tune, lips syncing along with the words. _“Baby, I'm perfect… for you.”_

He was adjusting his headphones on his ears when he saw Deaton open the window opposite.

“Good morning, Deat,” he greeted, waving at the man, quickly cutting the song on his playlist.

“Morning, Stiles,” Deaton responded, the words barely reaching Stiles’ ears, his voice low and tired. It wasn't like Deaton was a never-ending source of zest and sunshine, but the night before must have been tough for him.

It had been well past midnight, when the sheriff had kicked Stiles out of the Hale apartment. His father had finally returned home after Stiles had fallen into the blur of deep sleep. It had been tough for all of them, thanks to Derek, who had been sleeping, or more probably passed out, throughout.

“How's the grumpy cat doing?” he asked, taking off his headphones completely, hanging them around his neck.

“He’s doing fine,” Deaton leaned on the window sill, continuing their casual talk as usual. “His temperature is high. But otherwise he’s okay.”

“High temperature, eh? But has his _temper-”_ he air quoted the word. “...cooled down or does he need more whiskey bottles to take it out on? I got plenty, just cleared that mess from my dad's closet.”

The way Deaton snapped his head to his left and then back at Stiles with bulging, warning eyes, Stiles wondered if Derek was up and around.

“By the way, my dad’s made some of his _yucky_ herbal soup for him.” His face crumpled remembering its disgusting taste still thick on his tongue. “So, now that you guys are up, I'll get it for him.”

Stiles wasn't asking. His dad had spent two hours preparing that soup, before leaving for the station. There was no way Mr Derek Hale was not eating that shit.

He didn't wait for Deaton to respond. He took the container from the kitchen and headed for the Hale apartment.

“Don't open the door.” He heard Derek's muffled voice, coming from behind the closed door. “I don't want anyone’s sympathy.”

“They're just trying to help, Derek. I'm opening the door. You kick him out if you want.”

 _Hello, your walls are thin,_ Stiles wanted to yell, but he couldn't help be amused at Deaton’s prompt response to his boss.

“Hey,” he huffed, entering the apartment, addressing Derek who was halfway to his room, ready to disappear. His face was paler than usual, dark circles around his eyes telling the tale of the night before.

“Hey!” At least he replied, Stiles thought as he watched Derek’s gaze flicking between him and Deaton, not quite meeting his eyes. It was clear that the memories of the night before were still bothering him.

“Relax, dude. I'm not here to cause trouble. My dad made you this soup.” He tapped the container, balancing it in his hands. “It's healthy and rejuvenating.”

"You mean the _yucky_ herbal soup?” Derek’s eyebrows reached his hairline, but his voice was playful rather than complaining. “Have you brought the whiskey bottles you were promising?”

“Oh, you heard?”

“The entire building heard.”

Stiles awkwardly shifted from one foot to the other, rubbing the back of his neck. “Erm, sorry about that.”

He noticed the wrinkles on Derek's forehead smoothened out a little when he finally turned to face Stiles. He took it as a sign that Derek was willing to talk, or at least listen, and definitely wasn’t going to hide away in his gloomy cave of a bedroom. Stiles continued his expert advice.

“Seriously, you should try this. It tastes like dung - not that I've tasted dung - but, whatever, it's the best for getting you better.” He pointed at Derek's bandaged hand. “You'll heal like a werewolf with badass healing powers, not literally, but it’s… good.”

Derek lifted his injured hand to his chest, clenching and unclenching his fingers, testing the pain as if he’d only just remembered it was there. He winced with the ache.

“I'll bring a bowl,” Deaton butted in and left before Derek could open his mouth to protest. Derek's glare poked holes into his back, looking as if he was minutes away from firing him.

“It's effective if you have it right now, when it's fresh and hot.” Stiles covered for Deaton. “I've tried spooning it down my throat, bit by bit for hours.” He shuddered, making an anguished face. “Believe me, the best way is to gulp down every last bit, as fast as you can.”

Derek silently eyed the container for a moment. Then he lifted his gaze to meet Stiles’, it was pale but calm. “I, uh… _thank you,_ ” he muttered, lower than a whisper.

“Say thank you after you’ve tried it and survived,” Stiles tried to casually laugh it off to relieve some of the tension in the air.

Derek’s gaze didn’t waver, in fact he became more serious. “I also meant thank you for last night.”

There was a long silence.

Stiles had assumed Derek could hardly remember it and even if he did, he wouldn't be comfortable addressing it, not so soon.

“Nah, please, don't mention it. We're neighbors, after all.” He winked at Derek, continuing the casual tone, shifting the container from hand to hand, because he didn't know what to do with it, sloshing the liquid inside. “When I'm not well, I gather the entire building at my house. If no one’s around to check on you, then what's the use of getting sick, right?”

They both stared at each other. The smile on Stiles’ lips faltered as Derek's gaze remained intense.

“Give that to me, Stiles.” Deaton broke the silence, having returned with a bowl. “... before you spill it all over your shirt.” He took the container and emptied it into the bowl.

Stiles’ stomach lurched with the pungent smell.

“Here.” Deaton shoved the bowl into Derek's hands and he jerked back from it, wrinkling his nose in distaste, definitely having second thoughts.

“C’mon, big guy. My dad’s a bit obsessive about this soup and he has a habit of knowing if it’s been fully consumed or not. You’d better finish it all,” Stiles coaxed him.

Stiles knew Derek wouldn’t actually fall for his silly threat, but it could be his way of expressing gratitude towards the sheriff, Derek lifted the bowl to his lips, taking in his first sip.

And, his entire face flushed burning red, eyes watering, cheeks blown out, full of the hot, tangy liquid. He refused to gulp it down.

The next moment, Derek was rushing towards the bathroom.

Stiles had full sympathy for Derek, even Stiles had never managed to finish a bowl full after _years_ of practice. But it was fun watching someone else suffer his dad's infamous creation for a change.

******

 

Stiles almost hurt his fingers while scissoring the corners of a banner, focusing on Derek rather than his handiwork.

He hadn’t been able to stop looking at him since the day he’d finished the whole goddamn bowl of soup, every last drop. Stiles was still thoroughly impressed, starstruck.

Surprisingly that evening, Derek was sitting outside, sprawled out on a cosy recliner in one corner of the terrace, sipping a strong coffee, looking soft and snuggley. His eyes were fixed on the notepad on his lap while he scribbled in it at regular intervals. His open mood suggested that the writer was finally coming out of his block.

Stiles tore himself away from the sight, sighing heavily as his eyes hovered over the flying paper, balloons, glitter, sketch pens and all the colorful mess around. He hoped Deaton would help him clean up the mess. He looked at Derek, again.

“You do this for living?” he asked. Stiles knew he would choke to death on the silence if he didn't start talking.

Derek lifted his head, eyes narrowing at Stiles’ random query.

“I mean, do you have a job, other than writing?” Stiles had read the pathetic reviews of all three of Derek's novels and he was genuinely worried if the man had enough money to at least pay the taxes on his gigantic apartment.

Derek closed his notepad, twisting in the chair to face Stiles.

“Yes, Stiles. I do have a job.” He capped his pen and placed it on the closed writing pad. “I'm a freelance software developer. Generally, I take MNC company projects and then take a short break for writing.”

“What's a software?” Ryan asked, halting his gluestick on the cardboard. He was looking at Derek.

Derek straightened his back, tensing over kid's simple question. “It's… it's a coding… framework,” Derek stuttered, suddenly short of suitable words. “The thing we use to design logic, um…” He looked at Stiles, eyes pleading, asking for help.

“It's a language,” Stiles chipped in to rescue Derek, expression sincere. “A _special_ language that Derek learnt in school and now that he's expert, he’s using it to communicate with computers.”

“Wow. That sounds kh-ool,” Ryan gasped in wonder. Stiles wasn't sure how much the kid really understood, but he didn't ask further questions and Derek let out a heavy sigh of relief.

Stiles shook his head and helped Mia to stick a glittering star on her invitation card.

“Don't you have a dance practice today?” Stiles didn't even realize when Derek had gotten up from his seat. When he raised his head, Derek was leaning over him, curiously watching what the kids were making.

“It's Mia’s birthday tomorrow.” Stiles smiled when the girl raised her chin, beaming at the mention and he suddenly remembered. “Holy sh- _cow,_ ” he exclaimed. “I was so engrossed in the preparation, I forgot to ask for your permission. It's like - we celebrate every kid's birthday here… on the terrace. _I’m so sorry_ , I didn't even realize things have… changed. But, it won’t be too noisy or anything, and we’ll only need two hours and we’ll make sure-”

“Stiles!” Derek cut in on him, before he could build up to a panic attack.

Everything was set up: banners, cards, cake, theme. One simple _no_ from Derek and it would upset so many of them, and it would be all Stiles’ fault, this time.

“Stiles, I'm not gonna upset anyone,” Derek interrupted, stopping the ramble, which wasn't as internal as Stiles may have assumed it was. “You have my permission.”

“Oh my god,” Stiles breathed, his limbs relaxing at his side. “Thanks, man.”

“Would you come to my birthday party, Derek?”  Mia moved between them, offering a recently finished invitation card to Derek.

“I’d love to,” Derek replied in an instant, grinning fondly at the starry card and the girl. It did _things_ to Stiles’ heart.

“It's a theme party,” Rey provided more information as Stiles was busy stupidly smiling at Derek. “You're not allowed without a costume.”

“Yeah,” Stiles confirmed, finally coming out of his daze. “Otherwise, these kids are totally capable of kicking you out of your own house. Trust me.”

“Oh, really?” Derek's eyebrows shot up, looking amused and interested. “What’s the theme?”

Stiles lips were curled into a full smug smirk when he said - “The superheroes.”

The way Derek's face flattened at that was definitely a sight to behold.

******

 

It was tough.

Especially in an old Spiderman costume that he’d worn quite a few times before and which was hugging his body in all wrong places, making it difficult even to breathe. Stiles was banning costumes from all their future parties, for sure.

He peeled off his red face mask, raking fingers through his sweaty, disheveled hair and drained two glasses of orange juice. And now, he needed to pee. Perfect _._

Derek wasn’t in yet and Stiles was desperately trying not to hope that he would actually turn up for some kid’s costume birthday party. Stiles looked around.

Hulk and Catwoman were chomping on chocolate cake, spreading half of it over their chubby cheeks. Batman was pulling at supergirl’s cape. Thor was chasing after Captain America while the latter tried to fight him off by throwing his styrofoam shield at his hammer, breaking it in two. Thor started crying.

Stiles quickly scooped up the sobbing Thor, before things could get physical, shushing him with soothing words.

“We’ll fix it, Jake.” He searched the table drawer, shuffling through the abandoned pieces of papers to look for a gluestick he remembered he’d dumped somewhere. “Ow!” something pointed poked his finger, a pencil.

“Do you need a hand?”

Stiles jumped at the sudden sound, twirling around on his heels. “Dude! Make some noise when you -” He gulped down the remaining words as he saw Derek standing right behind him, smiling.

Derek was in a full blown red and blue Superman costume.

 _No, Derek was in a very tight fitting Superman costume_ , he mentally corrected.

It clung to his broad shoulders, strong arms, his full torso, his, his… _everything_ , defining every minute curve of his sculpted muscles.

Stiles’ eyes refused to move from the ‘S’ emblem in the middle of Derek’s firm chest.

“Close your mouth, you’ll catch flies.”

Stiles’ eyes flicked up to Derek’s hazel-green ones, which were gleaming at him with a mischievous glint. He shut his mouth with an audible click, cheeks burning in embarrassment.

“May I?” Derek moved forward before Stiles could shift to give way to him, their shoulders brushed. Stiles jerked back as if burned, his mind was going crazy and Derek’s proximity was certainly not helping.

Luckily, Derek didn’t seem to notice his internal turmoil and easily found the gluestick.

“Don’t worry, Jake. We’ll patch this up.” Derek gently tugged the toy hammer from Stiles’ grip and Stiles let him, without uttering a single word, blinking up at him.

The whole time, he quietly watched as Superman fixed the toy with glue, scotch tape and absolute sincerity.

“Derek…” Mia screeched in delight, running towards him. “You came!” She wrapped her hands around Derek’s leg, hugging it tight. Derek almost lost his balance through his long, waving cape, but he reached out and patted the kid's head, a warm smile tugging at the corners of his lips.

Mia finally loosened her grip, tilting her chin up, looking in between their matching costumes. “And we are cousins!” she squealed.

“Of course, Supergirl. Happy Birthday.” Derek bent down and gave her a parcel. She ripped the wrapping paper away eagerly revealing an enormous teddy bear, bigger than her tiny figure.

“Whoa!” Mia exclaimed, clutching the fluffy toy, struggling to keep hold of it with her small hands.

Derek carried it for her, easily tucking the toy under one arm.

“Thank you, thank you, Derek,” she beamed, showing the gap from her missing tooth. “Superman is the best.”

In his arms, Stiles watched as Jake made a sudden movement. “No!” the boy protested, curling himself closer to Stiles. “Spiderman is the best, right Stiles?”

“Hell yeah.” They high-fived.

Of course, Stiles had a serious soft spot for the character, no wonder he'd been wearing that uncomfortable jumpsuit to every single costume party for a whole two years. Lydia had even kicked him out once, but he was still deeply in love with Marvel’s web shooter.

He sent scrutinizing glances at Derek, checking him out. “Spidey would totally kick Superman’s ass.”

“Really, Stiles?” Derek retorted, his eyebrows doing the typical _I Object_ dance, broadening those already broad shoulders, looking as if Stiles had hit his weak nerve. “And how exactly is that possible? Oh wait, by whining him to death?” He huffed out an unconvincing laugh.

“Oh, c’mon!” Stiles wasn’t backing off. No way, it was a matter of life and death. “Spidey’s a science guy. He’d mix kryptonite into his web and shove it in Supes’ face.”

“Supes would melt it down with his heat vision and freeze Spidey with a single sneeze.”

“Spidey’s agile and flexible-”

“Supe’s would trash him on the moon. He’s the strongest.”

“Spiderman’s movies are doing better at the box office!”

“What?” Derek creased his brows. “That’s off topic.”

“I disagree. I say- ”

“Guys!” Mia bellowed.

They both winced, looking around, realizing where they were.

“Stop whining like babies.” She spread her arms and shoved them away, separating them. Stiles hadn’t even noticed they were almost nose to nose.

“But-” Stiles opened his mouth.

“Right now!” Mia snapped.

Stiles’ eyes widened, shocked by the strict command. He glanced at Derek who was looking at Mia, stunned and bewildered, taken aback by cutie pie Mia’s complete mommy-stance.

That day, Stiles witnessed Derek throw back his head and laugh wildly until his eyes watered. And for some reason, Stiles felt a knot loosen in his chest.


	5. Chapter 5

“Open, open up, open up… oh, c’mon, damn door!”

Stiles stared at the closed elevator door, chanting the mantra, foolishly expecting the lifeless machine to follow his orders. He was an hour late for the practice and hoped the kids hadn't left already.

The cinema hall was showing the new Captain America sequel. Stiles had watched all the others, first day first show, and he certainly wasn't missing out on the new one. It was also an excuse to meet up with his childhood gang, after a year. 

It felt nice though, the way they had all interacted from where they had left off and continued as if a gap of an entire year was nothing but a few missed moments. His friends had started with college, comfortably settled in their exciting lives. Scott’s new look had surprised him the most. His best friend had joined the gym, finally giving in to Jackson’s persistent advice and looking sturdy with all those worked muscles.

Stiles sighed, eyes narrowing at his reflection in the shiny metal door. No doubt, he was the tallest of the lot, but he still looked like an awkward, lanky fifteen year old.

As their conversation continued, Stiles had realized, others had been keeping in touch pretty regularly, partying hard, while Stiles had missed quite a few occasions. Pathetically, he was feeling left out, already behind in his studies as he’d had to skip a year, always busy with routine check ups and his vulnerable health. He felt weak and breakable and the most arid person in the world.

The elevator door dinged, pulling Stiles from his thoughts and he rushed towards the terrace.

His eyes scanned the empty area, cursing the never-ending city traffic. He nearly turned to head home when his gaze caught a colorful corner of the Hale’s living room.

They were all inside the apartment.

Shit, his heart skipped a beat. He barged towards the entrance, skidding to a halt at the open front door. Surprisingly it was quiet, other than the strong, husky sound of Derek’s voice.

“... and then, there was a monster.” 

Stiles froze, taking in the sight in front of him.

The kids were settled on the carpet, crowding around Derek who was sitting right in the middle, knees drawn up to his chest, hands wrapped around them. He was wearing casual sweatpants and a orange tank top. Stiles wasn't a fan of orange, orange made him angry, but it looked good on Derek, bright, refreshing and happy. Jesus, he was already struggling to wipe away the images of Derek in his superman outfit from his subconscious, which had been haunting him for quite a few days now, and nights.

He shook his head, eyes settling on Derek's bare shoulders, squinting as they lingered over the rough marks, a contrast to the smoothly toned skin around them. A tattoo? No-

They were Derek’s scars. 

In a flash, Stiles recollected reading about Derek's severe shoulder injury from the accident. At that moment, he also understood why Derek had tried to cover his shoulders with a towel when he'd first laid his eyes on Derek in this very room.

The wounds had healed, but still distinct and distracting. They were a perfect reminder of the most horrendous moments of his life, probably every single time Derek looked in the mirror.

Stiles swallowed, his heart sinking.

“The monster had long hands, like this.” Derek, completely oblivious to Stiles’ inner agitation, stretched his hands as the kids watched his movements with wide eyes. “His claws were sharp and dangerous, haaa...” He made a loud sound from his throat, suddenly moving forward, cutting the air with his bent fingers. The kids gasped, jerking back.

Stiles’ lips automatically tugged into a faint smile. He let out a heavy breath, deciding not to spoil the current moment. He leaned against the door, folding his arms over his chest. He quietly watched as Derek continued his story. 

“He was an evil monster. His name was...” The names were always the hardest part of the story, Stiles knew from experience. Derek snapped his fingers, trying to think. “Let's call him  _ Derek _ .” 

“No,” Rey objected, jutting her chin up, in an attempt to catch his attention. “Derek is the triskelion prince. Let's call the monster, um, Mr Deaton.”

A loud snort escaped Stiles’ mouth and instantly, all heads turned in his direction.

“Stiles.” Derek loosened the wrapped arms from his knees, immediately straightening. “When did you get here?”

Stiles strolled inside, smiling his mischievous smile. “When Prince Derek was taking over the world by killing Mr Monster Deaton.”

Derek ducked his head, shaking it, his ears turning red, looking embarrassed. “I was just...” He looked up and narrowed his eyes, clearly disapproving of Stiles’ teasing looks. “You're late. I was just trying to pass the time.”

“And I deeply appreciate it, Derek,” Stiles placed a hand over his chest and bowed ostentatiously. “Thank you.” 

He waited till Derek returned his smile. 

“And, I'm sorry guys.” He pinched his earlobe, apologizing to the kids.

“Nah, we had fun.” Ryan walked towards Stiles, half jumping with excitement. “Derek told us the story of the baby wolf and his momma.”

“And the squirrel and the cat’s,” Jake added quickly, looking all awestruck. “And, y’know Stiles? Jupiter has  _ sixty seven _ moons! Derek showed us the entire galaxy on his laptop.”

“Wow,” Stiles breathed, glancing up at Derek. “That's… that's,” he struggled to get his words out. “... amazing,” he finished looking straight into Derek's eyes.

“C’mon Derek, tell us the evil monster story.” Rey tugged his hand, making him break the eye contact.

“No,” Derek blurted out, the flush of his ears slowly creeping down his neck. “I'll continue the story tomorrow, okay?” 

“Pinky swear?” Mia reached out, offering her little finger.

Derek looked at it as if it was some vicious weapon, but then he lifted his hand, carefully entwining their fingers, shaking it once in a silent promise.

And, Stiles was having a hard time controlling his overflowing emotions. He didn't push it though, he wanted Derek to relax and not be freaked out by Stiles’ heavy sighs. 

He waved his hand, calling the kids outside. “Let’s go, kiddos. Follow me to the dance floor.”

He didn't forget to wink  _ thank you _ at Derek before marching away with the kids.

They continued with Derek’s story time as Stiles turned up late the next day, and a few days after that.

Watching Derek's silly, glowing face from a distance, while he re-enacted every minute detail of the characters, lost with the kids in their own private world, soon became Stiles’ favorite thing.

That was when Stiles realized that he was so gone on a certain grumpy writer.

******

 

Suddenly everything stopped.

It’d been three days since Stiles had seen Derek's face. 

For one crazy moment he thought Derek was avoiding him, but then Rey updated him about Derek’s meeting with his agent to discuss his upcoming novel. The day after Jake had informed him that Derek had a dentist appointment to remove his wisdom tooth and the third day, Ryan was out in the parking lot, helping Derek fix his Camaro.

Yes, Derek had a slick Camaro, an enchantingly beautiful black car, and Stiles didn't know. 

He started wondering when the kids had grown this close to Derek, Stiles seriously needed to stalk his neighbor a little more and maybe take a few tips from the kids. He was jealous for missing Derek's  _ everything _ . Even Mia had pointed out how Stiles had been all cranky for a few days, three days to be precise. He believed it was the  _ goddamn  _ summer heat, or maybe he was just missing seeing Derek every  _ fucking  _ day. God, he was cranky.

The fourth day, things changed.

It was more of a coincidence, than anything else.

Stiles wasn't a morning person. His day started when the sun reached the middle of the sky. But he’d been awake since four in the morning when Mr Finstock’s dog had started whining, cutting through the quiet night. He vaguely remembered dreaming about a wild animal, a big black wolf with glowing blue eyes, and he couldn't sleep any more.

He’d always hated that dog anyways.

His dopey eyes flicked to his open window. The sun had started to rise over the horizon. It filled the sky with mighty colours of red and radiated the clouds with rays of pink. He looked at the clock on the table.

**6:35 AM** , it blinked back at him.

Suddenly, the dim lights switched on in the opposite apartment. 

His eyes widened, the last remnants of sleep long gone, heart thumping in anticipation. He scrambled to get up from his bed, tripping over his comforter as he rushed towards the window.

Finally after four days, he saw Derek shuffling around in his apartment and his lips spread into an ear to ear goofy grin. 

Derek was wearing his track suit and sports shoes, twisting a bottle, capping it. He was ready to head outside. 

“Derek!” he yelled, his voice echoing in the hushed surroundings.

Derek jumped at the sudden noise, fumbling with his grip on the bottle.

“Stiles?” he exclaimed, steadying the bottle in his hands, watching Stiles wide-eyed as if he was some ghost.

Stiles chuckled. “I'm sorry.” He was looking no way near sorry and too pleased for catching Derek off guard like that. “Going somewhere?” he asked.

Derek rolled his eyes. “Yes,” he replied, walking to his window. He bent over the rail of the half open window, folding his hands on its marble sill. “I'm heading to the jogger’s park.”

“Eh? Uh… me too.” It came out before Stiles could stop himself.

Derek tilted his head, eyes lingering over Stiles, up and down, when Stiles finally realized he was still in his pyjamas.

“I mean, in five.” Stiles scrambled back from the window, his hands flailing as he scanned his room. Quickly, he grabbed an abandoned T-shirt from his desk chair. “See?” He showed it to Derek. “Wanna give me company?”

Derek narrowed his eyes, skepticism spreading across his face. Stiles swallowed, he knew he was being pathetic and desperate. He should have been happy with those two hours a day when he usually got quite a few glimpses of Derek, rather than making a fool of himself like this.

“Okay.” Derek shrugged his shoulder and Stiles let out a breath in relief.

“That's cool. Okay is  _ fine _ , I'm ready… almost,” he babbled, one hand working over his cotton top, unbuttoning it. He shrugged it off, immediately hooking his thumbs into the waistband of his pyjama pants.

“Oomph...” he froze at a sudden strangled sound.

It certainly came from Derek. When Stiles looked up, Derek was ducking his head, snapping his neck away so fast that he bumped his head on the bottom rail.

Derek groaned, rubbing the sore spot on his head. “I, uh…” he wasn't even looking at Stiles, suddenly so awkward. “... I'll wait outside. Meet me at the elevator,” he mumbled and hurried out of the room before Stiles could reply. It wasn't a question anyways.

Dumbstruck, Stiles stared between Derek's retreating back and the clutched T-shirt in his hand, and then, down at his pale, bare chest.

He was never shy of his body. He'd always thought that there was hardly anything to hide or show, for that matter. But, the way Derek had reacted to it made a warm tingling spread through his stomach, and further down.

“ _ Jesus _ ,” he groaned loudly, hiding his face by throwing the T-shirt over his head. How was he supposed to survive the next hour with Derek so close. How? 

He slumped down on the bed in his boxers, his half-off pants dangling near his knees.

******

 

"Jake is the naughtiest of them all, always seeking trouble."

Stiles followed Derek’s jogging steps, rambling non stop as a distraction. He matched Derek's speed, stepping on the perfect squares of the track. The park was deserted that early on a Sunday morning.  

“And Mia?” Derek asked.

They fell into a rhythm, left-right, breath, left-right, breath.

“Ah, she's a sweetheart,” Stiles softly cooed as he described his little friend. “She behaves older than her age. But you can't blame her, she's living with her granny.” 

He tried a casual tone but Mia’s story had always disturbed him, remembering how her mother had been planning to give her up to some foster home before her grandmother finally stepped in to give her a home.

“Oh...” Derek sounded surprised and Stiles suddenly realized that there was actually no one to provide him any sort of local news. Stiles was well aware how boring living with Deaton could be sometimes.

So, Stiles continued. He wanted Derek to know, to feel as if he belonged. After all, a little gossip and a good laugh was recommended for good health.

"Have you met Mr Finstock and his spoiled dog?" Stiles shuddered at the thought. “Here’s a bit of free advice,” he added without waiting for Derek's reply. This was important. “If you see them within range, say twenty yards away, just  _ run _ .” He flailed his hands to emphasize his point. “Last week I almost choked to death when I shared an elevator with them. That dog  _ stinks _ . I’ve full sympathy for Ryan who’s their neighbor. Mr Finstock makes him walk his dog every time he catches him in the corridor,” he tittered, shaking his head. “But, then again, Ryan isn't me. He's a very patient and curious young boy.”

"Yeah," Derek hummed in agreement. “He’s reading my novel, my first one, and..." he paused, huffing out an amused laugh, "... he said he liked it so far."

Stiles snorted, immediately pursing his lips, a failed attempt to suppress his snicker. "Sorry, I-"

"It's okay. I know it's bad." Derek causally confessed. "I wasn't even planning to publish it, but Laura and mom toured me for  _ months. _ They literally tricked me into it." 

Stiles glanced at Derek. 

Derek's voice was relaxed, but Stiles wanted to be sure. It wasn't the first time he’d talked about his family, but the last time they'd spoken, Derek was drunk and hardly in his senses.

Derek caught him looking and shot him a smile, bright and blinding. 

The next moment, Stiles tripped. He completely missed a step and tumbled forward. A firm grip caught his arm in time, halting his fall in mid air. 

“Careful!” Derek exclaimed, moving closer, tightening his grasp around Stiles’ biceps. Stiles steadied his wobbly body and gripped at whatever part of Derek's sleeve came within reach. 

“Erm, thanks man.” He saw the crumpled fabric in his fist. He glanced up. 

Derek’s face was close, so close that Stiles could see the distinct multicolored rings of his kaleidoscopic eyes, looking more crystal green as they reflected the sparkling rays of sunlight. Beads of sweat twinkled on his forehead, gathering around the thick lines of his eyebrows. One traitor bead escaped. Stiles’ eyes followed its path. It rolled down Derek's temple, barely hanging near his chiseled jaw. Stiles wanted to lean in and lick it.

“Are you alright?” 

Stiles winced, jerking a step back, immediately releasing Derek’s T-shirt. 

“Yeah,” his breath stuttered, cheeks burning as heat spread all over his face. “I'm okay,” he somehow croaked.

“Let’s take a break.” Derek was scanning his face, concern creased into his forehead. He took a moment before removing his hand from Stiles’ arm. He settled it in the crook of Stiles’ back instead, making him lead the way to the benches adjacent to the jogging track. “You look…tired.” 

Indeed Stiles was tired. Jogging full circles of a park at eight in the morning was certainly not his cup of tea. But his red face wasn't a result of tiredness, not even close. He was ashamed of himself, especially when Derek was being so open and worried about him, and all Stiles could do was drool over him. He wanted to crawl into a hole and never come out. Ever.

“Take this.” Derek offered him a bottle. Stiles took it without uttering a word, sitting down on a concrete bench. 

One sip in and Stiles sputtered it all out. “What the hell is this?” he made disgusted faces at the bottle.

Derek chortled loudly at the reaction, his whole body shaking. “It's an aloe vera juice, Stiles.” He dropped next to Stiles, still chuckling. “It's a health drink. I have it everyday after my run.”

Stiles squinted his eyes. “No wonder you finished my dad’s soup.” He ran his tongue over his teeth, trying to wipe the pungent taste off of them. “Dude, my mouth tastes horrible.”

“I can make it better.”

When Stiles snapped his head up at the unexpected comment, Derek was grinning at him. His eyes skittered to Stiles’ mouth for half a second, before meeting his eyes, searching and intense.

“Huh?” Stiles managed to huff, unable to withstand Derek’s soft gaze, controlling his own eyes from slipping a little down to Derek’s lips. Nope. 

“Uh, I'll just go.” And, Derek was getting up from the bench and already leaving.

“W-Wait!” 

“I'll be back in fifteen.” Derek shouted over his shoulder and jogged away in haste.

Stiles couldn't help but watch Derek's perfectly fitting track pants, letting out an exasperated sigh. He wondered if Derek had meant something  _ more _ , hoping he had. 

He spread his arms along the backrest of the bench, sprawling his legs in a comfortable stretch. His muscles were aching from the uncustomary exercise. He tilted his head back, closed his eyes and enjoyed the feel of the cool morning breeze against his skin. He waited for Derek, glancing at the park’s entrance where Derek had left.

As promised, Derek returned within fifteen minutes, only with three, no- four cones overflowing with ice cream held securely in his both hands.

“Oh my god...” Stiles breathed. 

Derek - ice cream - for him - his brain had stopped working as he gaped at the colourful, delicious looking soft swirls, his mouth already watering. Hell yeah, it’d definitely fix the taste.

“Pick one.” Derek's face beamed like a five year olds as he generously offered them to Stiles. 

“Pick  _ one _ , really Derek?” he teased, a fond smile tugging at his lips. “And, the others are  going into your ridiculously flat tummy, really?” 

“I’m practically living on them… and mashed potatoes.” Derek shrugged. “I got my wisdom tooth out recently.”

“Oh,” Stiles remembered Jake mentioning it. His eyes tripped over Derek’s face, checking for any signs of damage. “Does it still hurt?” he asked.

“No. It’s mostly healed. Now c’mon,” Derek scooted a step closer. “Hurry up!” He signaled at the melting scoops in his hold.

There was Stiles’ favorite raspberry from Anna’s parlor and a rainbow flavor he’d tried a few times and butterscotch, chocolate-chips, vanilla, Jesus, it was tough.

“What's this?” Stiles asked about the one unfamiliar flavor. It was a mixture of soft greens and blues that exactly matched Derek's eyes.

“This one?” Derek pointed it out with his chin, raising the cones up. “It's mint and lime, vegan with a coconut milk base. It's refreshing, especially for summer. Don't go by the ingredients, it tastes real good, trust me.”

Derek Hale was vouching for an ice cream flavor. There was nothing in this world that would have prepared Stiles to witness this. He was melting, like the creamy ice creams in front of him.

“I'll have this,” he looked between Derek's eyes, gazing into them deeply. “ _ They _ are pretty,” he muttered without thinking. His mouth, ugh!

Derek blinked at him in confusion. He didn't ask for clarifications though and Stiles was thankful for it. 

“Gimme.” Stiles made grabby hands and carefully tugged the cone out from Derek's grip.

No one spoke for a good five minutes, both lost savoring the delectable taste. 

Stiles buried his nose into the hollow of his biscuit cone, relishing its rich flavor. He looked up, grinning at Derek, chattering a series of delighted  _ thank yous  _ in between his bites.

“Um, you got some on here.” Derek brushed his own nose to show where it was. He’d gulped down all of the remaining three cones while Stiles was still licking his first one.

Stiles looked down at his sticky hands. 

As he tried to clean the ice cream from the tip of his nose with his long tongue, Derek snatched his eyes away from Stiles, unnecessarily focussing on his feet, his ears flushing an adorable pink.

And, Stiles loved every bit of it.


	6. Chapter 6

Stiles’ legs were a mess.

He knew he'd gotten a bit carried away this morning, jogging ten rounds of the park matching Derek's speed - it'd never felt so big. Usually his daily dose of exercise only included practising a few simple dance steps and of course, his routine flailing and tripping.

He pressed into his aching calf, trying to loosen the tight muscles. His head was heavy from interrupted sleep, but his eyes were wide awake refusing even a quick nap. 

It was their weekly day off from practice and Stiles was feeling edgy and bored. He grabbed his cellphone from the bed and scrolled straight to the recently added contact. 

Before he could re think the authenticity of his very first message to Derek, he tapped on a few keys out of habit.

**** ****

Then he glared down at the screen for a full five minutes until it finally dinged.

**What?**

Stiles groaned at Derek's single word reply and a question mark. He couldn't help but fondly grin at his inbox.

**God!!! Derek. You're such a dork. I said, “I am dying bored as f*ck right now. What are you doing?” I am rotting with boredom. HELP ME!!! Pleeeeease Derek**

This was by far his longest message. He'd never used these many punctuation marks in his entire chatting history. Derek's response was pretty quick this time.

**Why did I even give you my number**

He felt his grin widen, his fingers immediately moved to type in his first spontaneous reply.

**SHUT UP I kno you love me**

He froze. Shit.

He hit the cancel key with such unnatural pace that the cellphone almost dropped from his grip. He clutched at it, his knuckles going white, fingers hovering over the letters without actually touching them. He hesitated so long, trying to think of an appropriate response, that the phone lit up again with a loud ding. 

“Bah!” Stiles shrieked, dropping his phone this time. He lunged forward on his bed, fighting with his comforter to grab a hold of it. “Gotcha,” he squawked, quickly swiping through his screen to read Derek’s message.

**Come to my place. Ryan and Jake are here.**

Of course, the kids had their own private little things to share with Derek nowadays and Stiles was absolutely okay with this.

**WITHOUT ME???? N I thot m their fav :(**

This whiny message earned three prompt texts from Derek.

**Oh don't be such a drama queen. We're about to call you.**

**And of course you are their #1**

**For now**

Stiles barked out an amused laugh.

**And for always :P** \- He teased back, his smile reaching his ears. 

**We'll see. So, are you coming or I can eat your share of pancakes?**

Stiles shot a quick glance at the mirror. His hair were spiking out in all directions. He ran his fingers through it, messing it up even more while efficiently typing in with his other hand.

**Damn. Is Deaton making the Chocolate ones again? They're all urs. He spoils them every single time**

**Wait - don't tell him I said tht**

He rushed out of his room slipping his flip flops on his bare feet. He checked his messages as he unlocked the door.

**You have my word. Now come**

In the quiet passage that joined their two apartments, his slippers resounded in synch with his light tapping. He sent his last text.

**Open ur door, grumpy cat. M here**

Derek welcomed him with a quirked eyebrow, his phone ready in his hands as if he'd just finished reading his message. 

“Grumpy cat? Seriously?”

“Go check the mirror, Derek. You'll understand. ‘See this thick line right here?” Stiles squinted, pointing a finger up between Derek's eyebrows, moving a step closer. Derek went cross eyed as he followed its path. “And this always down-turned arch?” his finger lingered near one corner of Derek's lips, moving slowly to the other tracing the curve without actually touching. “Well, that's definitely a grumpy cat, right kids?” he glanced at the boys, but quickly met Derek's eyes again.

Jake and Ryan snickered from their places. They were sprawled on the dining table in front of Derek's laptop and dishes overflowing with pancakes.

Derek batted his hand away and Stiles scoffed.

“So what's up, guys?” he chirped, clapping his hands.

“Stiles, Stiles,  _ Stiles _ ...” Jake and Ryan squealed and tried to speak at the same time. “Surprise - father - project-” he could barely make out a few words.

“Whoa,” Stiles interrupted their enthusiastic babbling, raising his hands in a  _ stop _ gesture. He marched forward and leant on the chair in between them. “Tell me one by one… slo-wly.”

Ryan started first, voice still high pitched in excitement. “We're throwing a surprise party for father’s day.”

“And Derek’s helping us to make a video.” Jake joined him.

“We're planning to invite our dads on the terrace today and celebrate in the evening.”  

Stiles looked between the kids and Derek, his mouth slacking in awe. “That's… that's a wonderful idea.”

“Derek’s got the Finding Nemo DVD and we can all watch it together. What d’you say?”

“Finding Nemo?” 

Stiles had no clue why the idea of Derek owning a  _ Disney _ DVD left him all flabbergasted. Maybe Derek watched it with his family, or he’d little cousins who’d dropped in unannounced at his place and demanded some entertainment, or it might be his favorite childhood movie. All these thoughts flew through his mind and Stiles couldn't help but think how lonely Derek was right now. It broke something inside him. 

“Is that okay? Or we can drop the movie from the plan.”

“No!” Derek had drawn altogether the wrong impression of Stiles’ silence. “Nemo is perfect,” Stiles added in haste, reassuring Derek. “It’s one of my favorites.”

“So it's all done.” Ryan chewed on the end of his pencil, carefully examining the checklist in his hands.

“Cool,” Jake enthused and stuffed a big piece of chocolate pancake in his mouth.

Stiles was expecting Derek to join them but he watched him stroll inside the house instead. Jake blocked his view with his hand and a fork.

“Here.” He offered Stiles a bite from his plate.

Stiles chewed on it subconsciously as he took a charge of the laptop, his eyes floating over the jotted points on the colorful paper in Ryan’s hand: songs, greeting cards, flowers- 

“Umm...” Stiles moaned as the sweet, buttery piece of pancake melted in his mouth. “What's that?... More,” he demanded, opening his mouth wide. When the warm, fluffy delight assaulted his brain, he could hardly concentrate on a video playing on the laptop screen. “When did Deaton improve so much? When?”

Jake giggled, cutting a small piece for Stiles one more time. “It's not Deaton, doofus. Derek’s cooking the pancakes.”

“Wh-” Stiles choked. He pressed his fist on his mouth, suppressing his hysterical coughing. “I… I need to… I can't-” 

He dumped the laptop on the table and bolted towards the kitchen. 

The homey smell of frying butter tickled his nostrils even before he entered the kitchen. 

Derek was standing right there against the counter, in all his cooking glory, with a denim apron wrapped around his lean waist which also had big pockets and a neatly folded kitchen towel peeking out from it. He had a spotless, white chef’s hat on, while he securely held a bowl and stirred all ingredients with a whisk, a traditional wire whisk.

Stiles always had imagined Derek would be the type who chewed their food thirty-two times, who efficiently used chopsticks to eat Chinese food, who finished school assignments before time, and was completely his mamma’s good boy. And his cooking skills screamed  _ yes _ at least to the last one.

Stiles couldn't move his eyes from the bulges of Derek's tight arm muscles holding the bowl.

Derek sprinkled the nonstick griddle with water drops. On the hot surface, bubbles jumped around making a splashing sound, pulling Stiles back to reality. 

“Cooking, eh?” he muttered, struggling to find his voice.

Derek turned around to look at him and Stiles’ gaze zoomed on the tiny patch of batter stuck on his cheek. 

Stiles huffed out a soft smile, quickly fumbling into his jeans pockets and hurried to take out his cellphone.

“May I?” he asked, holding it upright in front of Derek.

Derek eyed the phone for a long moment, but then pursed his lips in a best possible cheeky smile. Thankfully, he allowed Stiles to capture the image, before he could have a freak out for asking. 

Derek continued his cooking without bothering with the way Stiles kept peeking into everything he did. 

He poured a cupful of batter onto the hot griddle, cooking it on a medium heat until it turned golden brown. He then slathered it’s surface with sugar and chocolate syrup; topped it with whipped cream, marshmallows and chocolate candy sprinkles.

And, those were the best damn pancakes Stiles had ever had. It was pure bliss, both the delicious pancakes and images of domestic Derek in front of him.

******

 

“ _ Walk alongside me, daddy and hold my little hand. I have so many things to learn that I don’t yet understand, _ Um...”

“EveryChildNeeds,” Stiles murmured under his breath as Jake struggled to recollect the next words of the poem.

“Yep,” Jake continued with a twinkle in his eyes, never leaving his dad's. “ _ Every child needs a gentle hand to guide them as they grow. So walk alongside me, daddyyyy…”  _ he held his breath, chin jutting up as he raised his pitch for the last line. _ “We have a long way to gooooo.”  _ He bowed in style.

Mr Blake’s clapping was the loudest when he stood up from his chair beaming at his son.

The event had been a grand success so far when every single household from the building had flooded onto the Hale terrace. 

They had started the evening with a video which Ryan and Jake had put together with help from Derek. The trio had spent the entire day collecting photographs from everyone. Even Stiles had shared his old candid picture, when his dad held him for the first time in the hospital room all those years ago looking ecstatic and overwhelmed. 

It was a beautiful slide show of all their cosy memories with soft, heart warming music in the background, all credits to Derek, and nobody spoke for a whole minute at the end of it. 

When Stiles’ dad ducked his head in a futile attempt to wipe away his happy tears, Stiles’ throat had gone tight. Without attracting the attention of the crowd, Stiles scooted closer to him on the couch, rubbing his arm in affection. But still, from his side, he felt Derek throwing him concerned glances at regular intervals.

Every kid had something to say.

Rey told them about the glorious time she’d spent with her father in Rome the year before, ending the speech with ‘I want more’. Sam naively complained about his dad coming home late, after his bedtime, and earned a promise to visit Anna’s Ice cream parlor together every day for an entire week. They all offered their handmade greetings cards to their dads with a bonus peck on a cheek. All the kids came forward one by one and opened their hearts to their fathers.

“That was brilliant, Jake,” Mia cheered, boosting her fist in air, jostling Derek who had her sitting on his lap. Derek tried to dodge her hands from hitting his face and elbowed Stiles’ stomach by accident. 

“Ow!”

“Sorry,” Derek shot him apologetic looks and grunted, trying to get comfortable on the jam-packed couch. 

Stiles could feel him, he hadn't been able to move his butt for an hour. But, he'd no complaints, especially when Derek was sitting so close, as if attached at his hip, all pressed up and warm.

“Thanks, Mia.” Jake yelled with a toothy grin. ”It's your turn now.” He waved at her, insisting she join him.

Mia suddenly froze.

“C’mon, say something, Mia.”

Her shoulders tensed as she tried to curl herself back against Derek's chest.

“I don't-” she tried to speak.

“Mia… Mia… Mia...” The kids started chanting her name, encouraging her, but it had the exact opposite effect. She started fidgeting with the laces on her dress, her face going pale.

Mia was a confident child, pretty well spoken for her age. She was the youngest among the lot and adored by everyone. In fact, she was the one who gave the opening speeches at their little events every time and Stiles didn’t have a clue why she was suddenly afraid of giving a public speech.

“I can't…” Her voice cracked, almost on the verge of crying. “I… I don't know my dad.”

Her softly murmured words barely reached Stiles’ ears, but they hit hard. 

How could he have missed that, Stiles mentally cursed himself. The crowd, unaware of Mia’s internal turmoil, kept cheering her name and the poor kid started throwing wary glances at everyone, seeking some help.

Before Stiles could act, Derek was up from his seat, scooping Mia along. 

He walked straight to the center of the group. In his arms, Mia clung to him, clutching at his shirt with her tiny hands, still looking uncertain.

Derek cleared his throat. “Hello, friends.” His eyes floated over the crowd, pausing at Stiles for a quick second, as if telling him -  _ trust me. _

Stiles slumped back, relaxing his shoulders. He hadn’t realized he'd moved to the edge of his seat.

“I'd like to take this opportunity to thank each one of you…” Derek continued, his voice steady and calm, “... for participating at such a short notice and making this day truly memorable.”

Several whistles of approval filled the air and Derek's lips twitched, breaking loose his sunshine smile. He looked down at his sparkling greeting card, the one that Sam had shoved it into his hand while he'd distributed them to everyone and Derek couldn’t refuse. 

Derek waited for the crowd to settle into silence before speaking again. 

“I know, not all our dads could… be here.” 

Stiles’ heartbeat skyrocketed, not knowing where this was going. All he knew was, this was tough for Derek, speaking about the missing piece of his life in front of everyone while the ache in heart was still raw, barely healed. 

“But, we have someone…" Derek's words cut in Stiles’ thoughts, surprising him, “... Someone very special with us.” 

Mia snapped her head up to look at Derek, her forehead wrinkled in question. Derek scanned her eyes, gently nodding, reassuring her. 

“Someone who takes care of us when we can't.” Mia’s expression softened and Derek faced the crowd, addressing them, but more like talking to himself. “Someone who cooks us wonderful food and makes boring days brilliant. Someone who clears up our mess and never complains-”

“Someone who brings us toys,” Mia joined him.

“Yes… and brings us toys,” Derek repeated and the resulting laughter broke the tension in the room.

“So, uh, I'd like to give my card to him.” He paused, searching the room. “Mr Deaton… please?” he asked.

Deaton’s face flattened at that. He squirmed in his chair with an awkward shake of his head. 

“Alan-” the sheriff clapped him on the back, “- Go on,” he encouraged. The other adults nodded in agreement before Deaton, finally, got up to join Derek and Mia.

“Thank you for making my life… easy.” Derek hesitated a little, probably feeling unsure of Deaton’s reaction to suddenly being called out. Derek swallowed, his voice a bit shaky. 

And Deaton, he was so overwhelmed that he didn't open his mouth, not even for a quick thank you, but his whole face was beaming with joy and what felt like genuine gratitude.

Stiles had never seen so much expression on Deaton’s face before. 

“Thank you,” he managed to mutter somehow, gently patting Derek’s shoulder.

“And, I'd like to offer my card to my  _ grandma _ !” Mia chirped and all heads turned in her direction. 

Derek immediately put her down and she ran straight to granny Satomi. The lady wrapped her grandchild in a tight embrace. They held each other for a long moment before her grandma looked up and blew a kiss at Derek. 

Derek ducked his head, awkwardly shifting on the spot.

Everything was intense and exhilarating, and Stiles couldn't stop clapping and smiling like a two year old, whooping and whistling for them.

“What?” Derek muttered as he returned to his seat, not exactly meeting Stiles’ eyes, and Stiles realized he was still stupidly grinning at Derek. 

He couldn't stop looking at Derek, and he didn't care, not anymore. He thought he could look at the flushed, totally overwhelmed Derek for eternity. He watched as Derek settled down beside him, unnecessarily rubbing his jeans, clearing non existent dirt from them. The background noises suggested that someone had put on the Finding Nemo DVD.

Derek's head was down, watching the floor, his hands resting slack on his lap. 

It had been a brave gesture from him, breaking out of his comfort zone to soothe a child, but that must have triggered something inside him and Stiles didn’t want to see him like this, lost and quiet.

Before Stiles knew what he was doing, he moved his hand, taking Derek's in his. It was shaking and cold. 

Derek jerked his head up at the contact. Stiles was half expecting him to pull away, but instead, Derek curled his shivering fingers around Stiles’ palm, seeking the warmth. Stiles let out a heavy sigh, tightening his hold with a gentle squeeze.

No one spoke a word.

They both fixed their eyes on the colorful animation on the screen. Stiles could barely register anything, his entire being was concentrated on their locked hands. He wanted to say comforting words and ease Derek's pain, wrap him up in his favorite comforter and soothe his cold skin, but for the moment, their entangled fingers felt just right.

Someone dimmed the lights and it took all Stiles’ self control for him not to tilt his head a little and lean on Derek's shoulder. 

They sat in the same position throughout the movie.

After an hour Stiles muscles felt stiff from the lack of movement. But he didn’t twitch his hand, he wouldn’t even for an earthquake, and to his surprise, neither did Derek. 

Stiles couldn't help the way warmth spread through his heart at that thought, Derek being so close and willing and seeking comfort in Stiles’ touch. 

******

 

They broke apart when the movie’s end credits started rolling and everyone got up from their seats, slowly dispersing. The area lit again with halogen lamps illuminating the space in bright yellow light. Stiles squinted against its sharp glare, his sleep deprived eyes searching to catch Derek's.

Derek was looking right at him, his gaze soft and earnest. He opened his mouth, looking as if he was about to say something but closed it at the last moment, clearly struggling to get the words out. Stiles was all ears, patiently waiting.

“Nice show, guys,” someone screeched into his ear, making Stiles jump. 

For the past hour or two he'd completely lost himself in Derek’s cozy presence, almost forgetting that they were standing in the middle of a room surrounded by a whole bunch of people.

“Mr Lahey?” Derek moved his attention away from Stiles. “Uh, thank you,” he politely answered for both of them and Stiles forced a smile, acknowledging that they were on the same page. 

Mr Lahey refused to move on. He engaged Derek in arbitrary conversation on stocks and shares and world peace, Jesus, Stiles couldn't take it any longer and was minutes away from pulling his hair out. Derek threw him a few helpless glances, but the older man disregarded all his attempts at interruption. 

“Stiles...” He twirled around on hearing his name, glad for a distraction, sad that he wouldn't be able to rescue Derek any more. His eyes settled on Granny Satomi who was apparently struggling to keep her hold on Mia’s sleeping form.

“Wait!” Stiles sprinted towards them. “Let me.” Immediately, he embraced Mia in his firm arms. 

“Thank you, kiddo,” her grandma huffed, looking drained, her hand clutching at Stiles’ shoulder for support. “Can you accompany me downstairs? Boy, she's growing fast and my knees are just hopeless nowadays.”

“At your service, ladies,” Stiles teased, carefully adjusting his grip on Mia, simultaneously taking her grandma’s weight.

When he shot a quick glance over to Derek, he was watching him with wide, curious eyes, subconsciously nodding to whatever Mr Lahey still saying.

_ I'll be back _ , Stiles mouthed at him and Derek's shoulders sagged in relief. He focused on the floor, not wanting to trip and take the other two down with him. He dropped them off at their second floor apartment and returned to the terrace with a box of homemade oatmeal-coconut cookies, Granny Satomi’s speciality. She had made him promise to share them with Derek and not wolf them down all by himself. It was remarkable how well she knew him.

The terrace had been vacated by then. Deaton was carrying chairs back to the living room and Derek was seeing off the last guest of the night like the true host he was.

“Hey,” Stiles huffed softly, catching Derek’s attention. Derek did a double take, looking a bit surprised that Stiles had actually returned as promised. 

“Hey,” he replied with a matching huff, a small private smile stretching over his lips which made Stiles’ heart somersault in his chest. 

“Everyone gone?” Stiles asked, just for the sake of saying something. 

Derek scanned the surroundings. “Yeah, everyone’s gone,” he confirmed seriously, nodding.

It was quiet, a total contrast to what it had been a few minutes before and Stiles could feel strong vibes of unspoken tension between them. Acknowledging that they shared feelings above a simple platonic bond for each other, was indeed tough. 

“Good job, eh?” Stiles moved closer to Derek, standing right in front him.

“Yeah, good job,” Derek muttered, searching Stiles’ eyes, falling short of finding anything more to say.

Damn, it was pathetic. Maybe it wasn't time yet. Maybe Stiles should wait.

“So, uh, I’ll just...” Stiles pointed, motioning towards the terrace door, “... I’ll leave then.”

The smile on Derek’s face vanished at that and Stiles’ eyes refused to move away from the flat line of Derek’s lips. They were so close. He almost leaned in, almost, jerking out of it at the very last moment.

_ Fuck _ , he hoped he hadn't said that out loud. “Erm, before I forget…” he fumbled in his jacket pockets, “... here.”  He offered the cookie box to Derek. “They’re from Granny Satomi,” he clarified when Derek's eyebrows creased in question. “They're the best things in the whole damn world.” He paused, hesitating a little before his next words. “It's a small token from her, for what you did for Mia today.”

Derek went still, clutching the box tight in his hand. He looked like he was about to back away, his eyes dropping to the floor. “I… I didn't-”

“You  _ did _ , Derek,” Stiles cut him off, hands rising to grip his biceps, halting Derek's fidgety movements. Derek still wasn't looking at him, his head hanging down. “What you did for Mia was really brave.” 

Derek snapped his head up, his glassy eyes looking so vulnerable and Stiles wanted to wipe  that look off his beautiful face.

“I know, Derek,” Stiles continued, locking eyes with Derek's. He circled his thumbs over Derek's arms, caressing them gently, before slowly loosening his grip but not exactly letting go. 

This apparently helped. Derek's expression smoothed out a little as he relaxed, letting out a heavy breath. 

“It wasn't easy for you. I  _ know _ .” Stiles’ voice was gentle, coming out as muttered whispers. “And… and I feel like a complete idiot for not stopping it in time, for putting this on Mia… on you.  _ God! _ Derek, you were shivering and I couldn't - I'm so sorr-”

His apology was snatched away by Derek's lips on his.

Stiles sucked in a shaky breath, taken aback by the sudden move from Derek, taking a moment to steady his dizzy head, processing what had just happened. 

Derek Hale had kissed him, hell no, his lips were still very much planted on Stiles’, still moving, nipping sensuously at his bottom lip, still kissing. Holy shit. A moment passed and it seemed like the fervent nips were slowly fading. Of course, Derek must have drawn an altogether different meaning from Stiles’ shocked response, or no response.

Stiles dug his fingers into Derek's arms, pulling his body closer to Derek's, his heart stuttering crazily in his chest, eyes fluttering closed. This was it. This was happening and no way was Stiles hiding away from it.

Derek fucking Hale was kissing him. He was fucking interested in Stiles, in all the ways that Stiles had only dreamed about. The thought made his stomach warm. He tilted his head, deepening the kiss. It was oh so tender, no tongues, only soft lips moving in perfect sync and Stiles was melting.

“Stiles, where are the keys-  _ Oh god- _ ”

“Dad?!” They both flinched apart. 

“I’ll… I’ll just wait… outside, I guess,” the sheriff literally fled the place.

No one spoke for a whole minute.

“Shit!”

“Is that going to cause trouble?” Derek muttered, his eyes still fixated on the spot the sheriff had vacated in hurry.

“No. No trouble,” Stiles cupped his face and leaned in, brushing his lips against Derek’s parted lips. “Dad knows about me… about my, y’know, preferences.” he breathed, their foreheads touching. Stiles backed away a little to get a good look at Derek’s face. 

It was flushed in an adorable pink, his eyes still dilated from the after effects of their first kiss. 

“Everything’s fine.” Stiles placed a gentle peck on Derek's forehead, smoothing a few wrinkles of worry, his voice low and dreamy. “See ya tomorrow, okay?”

Derek nodded. “Okay.” His voice was as wrecked as Stiles’. “Now go!” he lightly shoved at Stiles’ shoulder, creating some space between them. “Go before your father drags us both out of here.”

Stiles scoffed. “Right,” he hummed in agreement, finally backing away without removing his eyes from Derek. He knew he had a goofy grin all over his face. Still moving backwards, he stumbled over something and fell flat on his ass.

When he looked up, Derek was shaking his head, laughing, his eyes crinkled in happy lines. It was totally worth it.

 


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sorry guys, I've been working on my other sterek stories [Grey Rainbow, a soulmate AU for Sterek Secret Santa event] which had deadlines. Since I've completed all of them, I'll be focusing on this story here on. I hope, you enjoy this short chapter -- [LoveActually-rps]

Stiles shut off the buzzing of his alarm clock. He groaned, eyelids heavy with unfinished sleep, body limp, tired from the non-routine activities of the previous two days. The morning runs with Derek were going to be the death of him, he knew it.

_ Derek _ ... the name rang in his fuzzy brain. The next moment, he tumbled out of his bed, knocking the glass off the side table. Flashes of their shared kiss started flooding back. Yes, he could still feel the tender brushes of Derek's lips against his. He touched them, finger tips grazing the soft skin, savoring the memory for just a little while before rushing to finish his morning routine and meet the man of his fantasies for real.

Derek was waiting for him near the elevator, all in his morning run glory, comfy black t-shirt, well fitted navy blue track pants and a sunshine smile directed only at Stiles. 

“Good morning,” he greeted Stiles.

Stiles didn't reply, not immediately. He increased his pace, covering the distance between them in long strides. He stopped right in front of Derek, eyes taking in the sharp angles of his beautiful face and hint of the bunny teeth peeking out between his lips. Derek’s eyes looked raw and puffy, clearly not having slept well. Was he dreaming about their kiss too, well, Stiles could only hope.

“Good morning,” Stiles breathed. From this close, he could smell the fresh scent of Derek's cologne, making his head light. He leaned in, watching as Derek tilted his head to seek a better angle. Their lips locked. 

Stiles shuddered at the first contact, his one hand automatically found its way in the thick strands of Derek's hair, the other gently caressed the lines of his neck. He could feel the warm press of Derek's palms on his hips, tightening as he parted his lips to welcome Stiles’ efficient tongue in. Derek moaned, pulling Stiles closer.

The elevator door dinged open behind Derek's back. They staggered inside, stumbling a little without even breaking the lip-lock. Derek's hand searched blindly, hitting the down button of the elevator panel as he tried to find something to hold onto. But Stiles was way far gone but managed to shove Derek till his back hit the elevator wall. At least, that helped to steady their momentum.

"I want…” Stiles panted between the kisses, “...I wanna finish our first kiss.” 

Of course, they had been interrupted before, during what was technically their first kiss, and Stiles shouldn't be blamed for wanting to complete it. Properly. The way Derek hummed into his mouth, he seemed totally on board with that. Stiles devoured Derek's mouth and Derek gave back as good as he got. Their hands roamed everywhere, clutching and unclutching at each other's clothes as if they couldn't get enough.

The journey down the six floors felt too short as the door opened with another ding. 

Stiles moved back, finally realizing he needed to catch his breath, hands still pretty much grabbing Derek's shoulders as his knees felt weak. His heart was pounding, head dizzy. God, and this was just a kiss. He rested his forehead against Derek's shoulder, taking in thick gulps of air which carried Derek's earthy scent. That helped.

“Hey,” Derek muttered in his ear, voice laced with concern. “Are you alright?”

Stiles raised his head, meeting Derek's eyes. His lips curved in a smile. “Yeah,” His eyes then lowered to Derek's lips, his kiss swollen lips, and Stiles’ heart pathetically fluttered in his chest, knowing that he was responsible for their state. He cupped Derek's face, thumb brushing the skin below his bottom lip. “More than alright,” Stiles answered with a soft huff. “This is good. The best.”

Derek's shoulders visibly relaxed at that, lips twitching into a fond smile in response. He leaned in, giving Stiles a quick, final peck on his lips.

“Perfect.” Swiftly, Derek untangled their bodies, taking a step back. “Let's go for a run then,” he declared, tugging Stiles out the elevator door by his wrist before he could get a chance to complain.

Stiles followed him like a lost puppy.

  
  


******

  
  


“How did it go with your dad?”

Stiles shrugged at Derek's question, going for nonchalance. He didn't want to scare Derek before he could catch a moment or two to get a grip on the unusual tingling in his chest. 

He was struggling to keep up with Derek even though Derek had in fact slowed his speed, jogging alongside Stiles in a steady rhythm rather than running like he did the day before. Stiles was thankful for that. 

“He’s cool,” he continued after a beat, assuring Derek. “Just had to listen to his  _ safety _ talks.” He finger quoted the word and loved the way Derek's face flushed at that. “I must say, you've quite a good impression of him.”

“He’s a good man,” Derek confessed, completely avoiding Stiles’ fond gazes. “He's helped me a lot with Peter’s case. And I… I don't have enough words to thank him for that.”

How in the hell Stiles had missed when the two of his favorite men bonded like this. He knew his father had visited the Hales apartment quite a few times before starting his shift. They might have bonded over their common interest in disgusting health drinks, Stiles wondered. He was absolutely amazed.

“You don't have to thank him.” Derek had sounded so overwhelmed and Stiles was twitching to lift that burden off of him, wanting to see him relax at that very moment. “He already likes you.”

Derek turned his face and stared into Stiles’ eyes, searching for the truth in them. 

What was he thinking? Why was it so hard for Derek to believe that people might actually like him. The kids were crazy about Derek. He was already giving Stiles a tough time maintaining his  _ favorite _ tag and the guy hadn’t even been there two months. Stiles had known these kids for years. Deaton was, hands down, Derek’s true fan and his dad had nothing but nice things to say about Derek. Then why couldn't Derek believe that someone might find the real tenderness beneath that tough-brooding exterior of his and fall head first… for him.

Stiles blinked his eyes once, nodding his head in complete assurance. He wanted Derek to believe. They held each other's gaze for a solid moment, before someone yelled  _ watch the road  _ at them.

They both jumped apart, never realizing that they'd moved so close, steps falling into a silent jog.

“Are you writing anything?” Stiles asked after a full minute. He wasn't ready to allow someone to ruin his Derek time _._

The way Derek shot him shy glances, Stiles wondered if he was up to something. “Um, yes,” Derek agreed after a moment. “It was easy to find inspiration around the kids and… you.” His ears turned an adorable pink.

“Whoa,” Stiles teased, amused and feeling content. He was preening that he could be any help to Derek, being inspiration was altogether a different matter. “Are you writing some Peter Pan?” 

Derek snorted loudly. “No.” He struggled to catch his breath. “I wouldn’t dare touch something as big as that.” 

“Why not?” Stiles objected. “When the great J. M. Berry wrote that play back then, he didn't know it was going to be a  _ legend _ . You neva know. Just keep writing those… that little weird, happy stuff and you'll find your way in one day. Trust me.” 

Derek was laughing now. “Sure… weird happy stuff? Right.”

Stiles tried to punch him on his arm, which Derek easily dodged, dashing forward to avoid Stiles’ following attack. Stiles sprinted after him, eager to kick his ass, or more like - to kiss him senseless. 

He froze dead at the piercing ache in his chest which made his breathing stop. 

He sucked in the air, desperately trying to get some oxygen into his tight lungs, his spine trickled with cold sweat, body shivering in sudden acute pain. Before he realized, he was dropping, knees hitting the hard ground below him. His hand was raised, stretched out in Derek's direction but he was running away, fast.  _ Derek _ , he wanted to shout, but nothing came out of his dry throat. 

“Stiles?!” Derek’s frantic call was the last thing he heard before drifting into a dark abyss.

 


	8. Chapter 8

Stiles woke up to the sound of low beeping. 

Through the slits of his heavy eyelids piercing light cut into his vision. He groaned, which came out as an animalistic gurgle as if veins of his throat were stuck. Everything was bright and white and foggy and he wanted nothing but to squeeze his eyes closed. 

So he did just that, drifting back into a deep slumber.

  
  


***

  
  


He was running through the forest, dried leaves crunching beneath his feet, his bare feet. He loved the sensation of soft grass stroking his skin, tickling it. 

_ Doctor _ … someone called.

His head snapped up, in an attempt to track the source of the sound. There was a man running ahead of him, he noticed, pacing away with fast, easy strides.

_ Check his pressure _

_ Beep… beep… beep… _

Stiles followed the man who looked distinctly familiar. He increased his momentum in a desperate need to see the man's face instead of just watching the twitching of his sturdy back muscles. They looked familiar too.

_ Pulse… Stable _

_ Temperature… still low. _

_ Beep… beep… beep… _

The man turned around, throwing a mischievous smile over his shoulder, challenging Stiles with his impressive eyebrows. 

_ Derek,  _ Stiles’ lips curled in a matching smile.

_ He’s smiling,  _ someone commented.

_ He's dreaming _ , the other confirmed.

Dreaming… right. He always loved to dream about Derek. He wanted to dream more.

_ Beep… beep… beep… _

Blank.

  
  


***

  
  


The next distinct feeling Stiles had was that he wanted to scratch his nose. He wanted to wipe that itchy sensation off of his skin so very much. He wiggled his fingers, trying to lift his hand. He couldn't though, it felt pinned.

_ “ _ Hey, hey kiddo… easy.”

Dad? Yes, it was his dad, although he sounded weak and broken.

He swallowed. “Da-” his voice cracked, utterly unable to produce even a single word.

“I'm here, son. I'm right here.” 

Stiles creased his eyebrows, concentrating every ounce of his strength to open his eyes. They were heavy as if carrying the weight of stones. 

As he forced his eyelids open, his father's concerned face filled his vision. Somehow there were more lines etched on his forehead, eyes felt paler than usual, looking ten years older than Stiles remembered the last time he saw him. He was smiling though, eyes glassy with tears.

Stiles wanted to reach out, but his hands were numbed. ”D-Dad…” he croaked, voice barely audible.

“Shh… don't talk. Take a rest.” His dad patted his forehead and Stiles’ eyes blinked shut against the gentle taps of his palm. It felt nice.

  
  


***

  
  


“Good morning.” Stiles woke up to a pleasant greeting from Dr McCall.

Shit. Of course, he was in the hospital and he slowly realized that the continuous beeping in his ears was in fact his own heartbeat, coming from a monitor somewhere.

He wanted to respond but couldn't trust his voice to form words. So, he stretched his lips, going for an awkward grin instead. Smiling was easy in his current state, even though his lips were chapped. He felt limp and exhausted as if the life had been drained from his body, his head still dizzy. His eyes scanned the room, tripping over the monitors mounted on the wall, halting at the I.V. tube attached to his hand.

“You're looking good today.” Melissa's voice pulled him from his thoughts. She walked to his bed, face split in a open smile. She hooked her stethoscope to ears, placing the other end on his chest, checking his heartbeat.

Stiles sucked in a deep breath, exhaling slowly, the routine they had followed for so many years. “Wh- What happened?” he asked, keeping his tone casual. 

“Well,” Melissa moved her hand away, hanging the stethoscope around her neck. She fixed her eyes on Stiles, disappointment evident in her gaze. “Someone decided to ignore all my instructions and went for a morning run. That's what happened.”

“It was just a jog,” Stiles tried to retort weakly.

“... and look where we're now,” Melissa snapped, eyes lingering on his face, forehead creased in worry.

“So…” Stiles let out a heavy huff,  “Am I dying?”

“No,” Melissa told him. She rearranged his blanket, pulling it over his legs, before pinning him with her eyes again. “But you could have.”

Stiles lowered his eyes, unable to withstand Melissa's strong gaze any longer. He remembered tears in his father's tired eyes and God, he felt his chest tighten with growing guilt, for making them - all of them - so vulnerable.

“Stiles.” Melissa’s voice was soft this time. “You were never this careless. I heard you did ten circuits of the jogger's park.  _ Ten, _ really?”

“I'm sorry,” Stiles muttered, dragging his free hand over his face. He knew he'd got carried away.

“Please don't scare us like that again.” Melissa fixed the strands of hair on his forehead. “I thought all your friends knew about your heart condition.”

Friends? Yes, of course, she was talking about Derek. He was the one who could have provided the details when Stiles had been passed out like some damsel in distress. Were they blaming  _ him _ ? A shiver ran down his spine.

“No,” he gasped, eyeing Melissa. “Derek… Derek didn't.. he-”

“... didn't know,” Melissa finished for him. “Yes, I figured that from the way he was freaking out yesterday.”

Stiles heart started pounding. It had been two months. Two months of pinning, daily chatting and two intimate kisses and Stiles hadn't told Derek about his illness. Fuck.

“Relax, Stiles,” Melissa soothed him, her eyes flicking to the monitor which was beeping crazily. “It's okay. Things are okay. We didn't have to go to surgery, that's a plus.”

“But Derek-”

“He's around,” Melissa cut in, reassuring him, “... hasn't left the hospital for a minute.” She gently squeezed his shoulder and smiled. “Now take a good rest so you're awake to see him during visiting hours, okay?”

Stiles nodded. “Okay,” he breathed, still unsure when Melissa forced him to lie back and fall asleep, again.

  
  


******

  
  


This time when his dad visited, Stiles was fully awake. The man beamed at him with a soft  _ Hey _ .

“Hey, Dad,” Stiles smiled, eyes scanning his face. He still looked drained, dark circles under his eyes suggesting he was having a tough time sleeping or a tough time in general.

"How are you doing, kiddo?” He settled on the chair beside Stiles, brushing his fingertips over Stiles’ arm. He looked lost as he touched the sore area which had been poked with hospital needles. The touch helped.

“I'm tired of sleeping,” Stiles squirmed in the bed, pointing at his back which had gone stiff from non movement. “I want to sit. Can you-” 

“Yeah. Sure.” Immediately, his father was off the chair. He adjusted Stiles’ bed and helped him lift his slack body, tucking a pillow behind his back for support. That is when Stiles noticed his dad’s hands shaking.

Stiles swallowed the lump in his throat. “Dad...”

His father didn't meet his eyes and proceeded to take items out of his duffel bag - a fresh set of clothing for Stiles, a towel, some fruit and a can of soup. “I, uh, spoke to Melissa. She said you're doing much better.” He started arranging the items on the side table, almost knocking a few bottles over. “She's prescribed some new medicines. Oh-” he froze for a moment, “I need to get them from the store.” 

“Dad,” Stiles tried again.

His father didn't seem to notice though. He poured the hot liquid in a glass, continuing his nervous chatter as if talking to himself. “Jordan has covered everything at work. I'm just glad, they  _ finally _ approved my leave.” He tried laughing, which came out as nothing but a sad huff. He offered the glass to Stiles, gaze flicking somewhere to the floor. “Drink this. You'll feel better.” 

“Look at me, Dad,” Stiles insisted, wrapping his fingers around his father's wrist, swiftly taking the glass from his shaky grip, placing it on the table.

When the man raised his head, tears were pooled his pale eyes. 

“What's wrong?” Stiles asked, voice lower than a whisper, eyes stinging with tears. His father was a strong man who had seen and faced worse situations over the years and was still standing tall. Something twisted in Stiles’ chest seeing his father so shattered. His throat tightened. “Please… please tell me, Dad.”

His father swallowed, blinking a few tears that ran down his cheeks. "When-” his lips trembled with a wave of emotions, “- when I saw Derek carrying you through that hospital door… I thought - I thought  _ I had lost you too _ .” He broke down.

“Dad, please don't-” A choked sob escaped Stiles’ throat. “I'm sorry.  _ I'm so sorry, _ ” he pleaded. “Everything’s fine now. I'm okay. See-” He stretched out his hands to prove his point, leaning forward to hold his father's shaking body.

His father shook his head. “ _ I _ am sorry. I didn't mean to-”

“No, Dad. It's me. It won't happen again. I… I promise.” He pushed forward and hugged his father, wrapping his free hand around his neck. “I'm going to get better. I'll take care. I promise.” 

He moved back to get a better look at his father's flushed face and waited till the man meet his eyes. 

“I'm gonna take care of you, Dad. I'm gonna conduct stupid summer camps. I'm gonna make you that Avocado salad which you hate so much. I know I can't run in the Olympics or… or climb Mount Everest. I  _ know _ .” He paused to catch his breath, making sure his father was listening. “But, I'm gonna ace my degree and get a good job. Maybe, if I get to travel around the world, I may take a ride on an elephant and… Yep, kiss under Eiffel Tower.”

His father huffed out a laugh. 

“No, I'm serious. That’s the plan, Dad.”

With that, the tension eased between them. They hugged again, clutching at each other for a long while without uttering a single word.

  
  


******

  
  


Visiting hours were busy as everyone who knew Stiles flooded in to check on him. He never knew he was that popular. He had full sympathy for his nurse who had to kick them out, reminding Stiles to  _ stop talking  _ every two minutes.

Stiles couldn't help it. It had been two days, but it felt like ages since he'd found his voice. He felt alive.

Chatting was easy as he animatedly elaborated the details of the  _ what's _ and  _ how's _ of the incident, repeatedly, enjoying their concerned glances and soothing hands. Many of them were parents of his summer camp kids and others were neighbors. A few he didn't exactly recognize, but he'd blame that on the daze of painkillers. At least, it halted his long running fear that no one would turn up to his funeral, which was actually stupid.

Once the crowd had dispersed and he was left alone in the eerie silence of his hospital room with an aching heaviness in his chest, an unsettling realization suddenly became evident - Derek hadn’t come.

  
  


******

  
  


The next morning carried the same hollow feeling as the previous night.

There was always someone around to stuff tablets and medicines down his throat or to take his blood for various goddamn tests. He was growing frustrated of the tasteless food and his father's healthy soups which always accompanied them. The sponge bath was as awkward as always and the I.V. tube hanging from his hand didn’t make the situation any better. Everything was pure torture right from his chest ache to the swelling in his ankles and abdomen. At least, they had removed his catheter and after a while he felt… free.

“When can I go home?” he whined when Melissa checked in for a follow up.

“I'm keeping you in for at least a week, Stiles,” she declared.

“A week?!” Stiles’ shriek was immediately silenced by a piercing glare from the doctor. She could kill like that, Stiles was sure.

 

His sour mood improved when Scott and Lydia dropped by in the afternoon. They talked about his favorite band and the upcoming Star Wars movie which was much better than the sad story of his life.

Stiles slept like a hibernating bear under the haze of his medicines and the rest of a day passed pretty much in blur with another no-show from Derek Hale.

 


End file.
